Substitute Fiancee

by Lee Wilkinson

  As though to add weight to that thought, he observed distantly, 'It will probably be quicker to take a cab rather than get the car out. We need to be back here by three-fifteen at the latest, to give-us both a chance to change.'

  'Where...?' Her voice faltered and she tried again. 'Where are we getting married? You didn't say.'

  'At All Saints.'

  'Oh...' She was surprised. For some reason she'd presumed it would be at a register office rather than a church.

  'It's at the bottom of Green Lane. We could see it from my old flat, if you remember?'

  Yes, she remembered All Saints well. It was a small picturesque church with a tall, slender spire and a walled churchyard. On one side it was hemmed in by a high-rise apartment building, but on the other the Green Lane gardens gave it elbow room.

  Coolly polite, he asked, 'I hope you don't mind being married in a church?'

  'No, I prefer it.'

  When they reached the main entrance, the doorman snapped to attention and asked, 'Taxi, Mr Balantyne?'

  At Blaze's nod, he beckoned. The first vehicle in the queue pulled forward and he opened the door.

  "Thank you, sir.' As they climbed in, he pocketed the generous tip.

  'Knightsbridge, please,' Blaze instructed the driver, and a moment later they were on their way to one of the most famous departmental stores in the world.

  The next few hours passed in a kind of whirl. When Fran would have chosen with her usual caution, Blaze, who had his own ideas of what he wanted her to wear, would have none of it.

  With no sign of embarrassment he selected a range of daring undies and some gossamer nightwear that brought a blush to Fran's cheeks.

  Coats, dresses and suits came next, along with matching shoes and accessories.

  Finally he hurried her up to the Bridal Department, saying, 'Now you need something to be married in.'

  'Wouldn't one of the suits do?'

  'Certainly not! I want my bride to look like a bride.'

  Glancing along the racks of polythene-shrouded dresses, he selected an ivory wild silk with a fitted bodice, long, tight sleeves and a sweeping skirt.

  'This one, if it fits,' he said decidedly.

  It was beautiful, and unashamedly romantic, and Fran sighed as the saleslady pointed out a tiny bunch of blue forget-me-nots embroidered inside the hem.

  As she was being led to one of the fitting rooms, Fran turned to Blaze a little hesitantly and asked, 'Do you want to see it on?'

  'No,' he said almost curtly. 'Isn't it bad luck?'

  The dress fitted like a dream.

  Smiling, the saleslady hurried to fetch the matching shoes and headdress: a simple coronet with a veil as delicate as a spider's web.

  When everything had been packed and dispatched to the hotel it was well after two, and Blaze insisted on them having a sandwich and a cup of tea before they started back.

  By the time they reached the Empire Park it was almost a quarter past three. Waiting in their suite along with everything else was a florist's box. It contained a single off-white carnation and a bouquet of ivory freesias and deep red scented rosebuds.

  Red roses for love...

  'I hope you like it?' Unusually for him, Blaze sounded uncertain. 'As you'll be wearing the necklace, I thought your bouquet needed some colour.'

  'It's beautiful,' she assured him tremulously.

  'I'm sorry I can't provide you with a bridesmaid,' he went on, 'but if you need any help to get ready I'll ask the hotel to send up a maid.'

  'No, thank you, I'm sure I can manage.'

  Then, bearing in mind what he'd said about it being bad luck to see her in her dress, she asked, 'We won't be travelling to church together?'

  'No, I'll be leaving first. A car will come for you about ten minutes to four.' As she turned away, he added, 'Oh, one more thing...the necklace... Before I go I'd like to put it on for you.'

  She nodded. 'Yes, of course.' And hurried into the bathroom to shower and start to get ready.

  Some fifteen minutes later there was a tap at the bedroom door. Hastily pulling on her robe, she went barefoot to answer it.

  Blaze was standing outside wearing an immaculate pearl-grey suit, the carnation in his buttonhole.

  He looked the epitome of the tall, dark and handsome bridegroom one read about in novels, Fran thought, with a strange feeling of unreality.

  'Ready for this?' He held up the necklace.

  'Yes.' She turned so that he could put it around her neck.

  That done, he fastened the catch and allowed it to slip into place around her slender throat.

  Turning back, she gazed up at him, waiting.

  'It looks wonderful... Now you have everything. The moonstone ring is old, the dress is new, the necklace is borrowed, and you have something blue.'

  His words reminded her of the romantic man she had once known, and, her heart beating faster, she waited for his kiss.

  But a moment later, without so much as a smile, he was gone, leaving her feeling empty and desolate.

  Making an effort, she pulled herself together and went back to getting ready.

  By a quarter to four she was fully dressed, her hair taken up into a smooth, silky knot, her coronet and veil in place.

  Having changed her engagement ring to her right hand, she took one final look in the full-length mirror. The dress itself was every bride's dream. Lovely and enchanting, it almost managed to turn an ordinary girl into a fairy tale princess.

  Though pale, in spite of careful make-up, and certainly no fairy tale princess, Fran was satisfied that she looked her best.

  Not as stunning as Melinda would have looked, and nowhere near as sexy and exciting, but she would do her utmost to make Blaze a good wife, and no matter what happened she would never knowingly hurt him...

  A knock at the outer door interrupted her thoughts. Realising it would be the car, she picked up her bouquet and hurried to open it.

  To her surprise, Richard Henderson stood there, looking very personable in a smart grey suit, a carnation in his buttonhole.

  'You look absolutely beautiful,' he told her. 'Edward's a very lucky man... And, speaking of Edward, I see he didn't warn you.'

  'No, he didn't.' Feeling not quite so alone, she smiled at him. 'But I'm so glad you could come. I think you may well be our only guest.'

  'Ah, but strictly speaking I'm not a guest. You see, Edward mentioned that you'd lost your father, and, knowing I was going to be in London this week, he asked if I could find time to give you away. Naturally I said I'd be only too pleased. You'll find I'm quite experienced,' he added, 'having given away two daughters of my own.'

  Then, as she didn't speak, he asked a shade anxiously, .'I hope you don't mind?'

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she assured him, 'Of course I don't mind. In fact I'm delighted. To tell you the truth I was just starting to feel a little...overcome...'

  "Then may I offer you an arm to lean on, or a shoulder to weep a few happy tears on? Whichever is the more appropriate.'

  'An arm will do fine,' she told him, pulling her veil into place.

  'In that case—' he presented a crooked elbow '—your carriage awaits you. A hackney carriage, admittedly, but it has a certain air about it.'

  The 'certain air' proved to be white ribbons and flowers, and a smiling driver with a carnation in his buttonhole. . On the short journey to All Saints Fran found Richard's presence comforting and reassuring, though neither spoke, and silently thanked Blaze for having been thoughtful enough to arrange it.

  The September day was a golden one, and they were bathed in sunshine as they walked up the paved path to the church door, where an elderly priest with a land face was waiting to greet them.

  Inside, though virtually empty of people, the church was full of flowers and incense and organ music. Sun shining through the stained glass windows made jewel-bright patterns along the backs of the polished pews and across the red carpet.

  But, walking up the ai
sle on Richard's arm, Fran was conscious of little but the man who was standing alone by the chancel steps.

  Blaze turned at her approach, and just for an instant his face seemed to hold the look she'd always longed to see there. Then a shutter came down, and he was once again a cool and distant stranger.

  As she took her place by his side the priest cleared his throat, and the short, simple service began.

  Both made their responses quietly but clearly, Richard played his part with aplomb, and at the appropriate time Blaze produced two gold rings: one exquisitely chased, the other quite plain.

  He slid the chased ring on to Fran's finger, and, though her hands were icy cold and not quite steady, she managed to put the thicker, heavier ring on to his finger without fumbling.

  A few moments later they were declared man and wife, and the priest advised, 'You may kiss the bride.'

  Blaze turned back her veil and, an expression in his eyes that she couldn't read, kissed her perfunctorily on the lips.

  The two elderly ladies who had agreed to be witnesses, both smiling broadly and both dressed in their best, came forward to sign the register.

  In no time the formalities were completed, and, after receiving everyone's congratulations and good wishes, the newlyweds said their thanks and walked down the aisle to Mendelssohn.

  In the church porch, Blaze turned to Richard and asked, 'Have you time to join us for a glass of champagne?'

  Tm afraid not,' Richard said regretfully. 'I was due back in chambers ten minutes ago. But I'll make up for it when I come to Balantyne Hall.'

  The two men shook hands.

  'Please make it soon.' Fran kissed his cheek.

  A moment later she and Blaze, enthusiastically showered with rice by the two elderly ladies, were making for the waiting taxi.

  Having helped her in, he gathered her skirt into a manageable pile before getting in beside her. They sat a good foot apart, and neither spoke on the journey back to the hotel, where the manager was waiting to wish them joy.

  By the time Blaze had escorted her up to the penthouse, taking care neither to touch her nor look at her, Fran was feeling anything but joyful.

  A quick peep at his face showed he looked scarcely any happier.

  As though aware of her glance, he asked abruptly, 'What would you like to do? Stay here the night or go home?'

  Unusually for him, he seemed tense and restless, and she wondered what to say for the best.

  Making up her mind, she answered, 'Go home,' and saw by his expression that she'd made the right choice.

  "Then as soon as you've changed I'll have everything put in the car and we'll get off.'

  'You'll want this.' She fumbled to unfasten the necklace.

  He shook his head. 'Leave it on. It'll be safer that way. Tomorrow I'll make arrangements to have it returned to the bank.'

  Within ten minutes of her taking off her wedding finery and putting on a stone-coloured silk suit they were on their way.

  Tired, and emotionally exhausted, she dozed on and off for most of the journey to Balantyne Hall, only waking fully as they drew up outside.

  They were scarcely out of the car when the door opened and the butler appeared.

  'Have everything brought in and the car put away, will you?' Blaze instructed tersely.

  'Certainly, sir.' Then, with due deference, 'May I, on behalf of myself and the staff, wish you and madam every happiness.'

  Blaze merely nodded, while Fran managed a smile and, 'Thank you, Mortimer.'

  The butler cleared his throat. 'What time will madam require dinner?'

  Flustered at being referred to, Fran glanced at Blaze. Getting no help from him, she answered as steadily as possible, "The usual time, please, Mortimer.'

  Decisively, Blaze added, 'Please tell Cook to keep it light, and we'll eat upstairs in preference to the dining room.'

  The butler bowed, and moved sedately away to do his master's bidding.

  Looking like a pair of distant strangers, rather than newlyweds, Fran and Blaze made their way upstairs in silence.

  Showing he'd given his permission for the suite to be cleaned, everywhere gleamed with elbow grease and polish, and there was a large bowl of fresh flowers on the bureau.

  Though a fire burned cheerfully in the big grate, the evening air coming through the open windows made the room decidedly cool.

  But no cooler than the atmosphere between Blaze and herself, Fran thought, her spirits at rock-bottom.

  She shivered, and apparently in response to that involuntary movement he went to close the windows. Then, his back to the room, he stood staring out.

  There was a discreet tap at the door.

  When Blaze neither moved nor spoke, Fran went to open it.

  Hannah and two of the menservants were outside, their arms full of the morning's shopping. 'Where would you like it all put, miss...I mean, madam...?' the maid asked.

  Fran glanced across at Blaze for guidance, but, still staring out of the window, he appeared oblivious.

  The previous night he had made it plain that he intended them to share a room, but in the face of his present coldness she hesitated to invade his privacy.

  Coming to a decision, she said, 'In here, please,' and led the way to what had been Melinda's room. 'You can leave it all on the bed.'

  The various boxes and packages duly deposited, the maid asked, 'Would you like me to put everything away for you, madam?'

  Needing something to occupy her, Fran answered, 'No, thank you, Hannah. I'll do it myself.'

  As soon as the door had closed behind the servants, with a heavy heart she began to hang her new clothes in the now empty wardrobe.

  When she got to the wedding dress she had a job to hold back the tears. It seemed only too clear that, almost before the ceremony was over, Blaze had been having second thoughts.

  But why? What had she done to make him change his mind?

  Everything put away, and the room tidy once more, she stood irresolute. Now what was she to do? How was she to get through the remaining minutes and hours of the day, alone with a man who was virtually ignoring her existence?

  Well, if he was going to treat her that way, she thought with a sudden determination, at least she was entitled to know why.

  Chin high, she marched back into the living room to find that Blaze had removed his jacket and was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, staring morosely into the fire.

  She sat down opposite, and, taking her courage in both hands, said quietly, 'I'd like to know what I've done?'

  He lifted his head and looked at her. 'Done? You haven't done anything.'

  'Then what's wrong?'

  Heavily, he said, 'Marrying you was a mistake...'

  Feeling as though she was mortally wounded, she stared at him.

  After a moment, his face full of self-disgust, he went on, 'If I hadn't been so damned selfish, things might have worked out for you.'

  'I—I don't know what you mean.'

  'Though I'm certain Varley only meant to use you, after the way Melinda treated him he would have been mad not to have appreciated a woman who loved him and would have stuck by him. Along with loyalty and integrity you have a lot of spirit, and if I'd let well alone you might have made a go of things. But I couldn't bear to think of you going back to him.'

  As Fran began to shake her head, he said, 'You asked why Melinda decided to stick with him... It was because I paid her to. You asked why they left for South America... It was because I agreed to take care of all Varley's debts and provide them with enough capital to start a new life... If they stayed together.'

  Dazedly, she said, 'You did all that to stop me going back to him?'

  'I knew that in spite of everything you wanted to.'

  'But I didn't—'

  'There's no point in denying it. You were hoping I'd take Melinda back so it would leave Varley free for you.'

  'You're quite wrong.'

  'I don't think so. When Varley said Melinda had never intended
to have my children you knew it was the truth, I could see by your face. But you kept quiet.'

  'Only because I thought you wanted her back. And you had been warned—'

  'And when I hinted that Varley might end up in gaol you were so upset I thought you were going to faint...'

  'I couldn't stand you being so deliberately cruel—'

  'Then later, when I got back to 'the hotel I could see you'd been crying over him—'

  'It wasn't him I'd been crying over—'

  As though she hadn't spoken, he went on, 'That's what made me so angry... Why I treated you the way I did... I'm sorry about that...'

  He rubbed a hand over his eyes, as though to erase the disturbing memory.

  'And I'm sorry I forced you to marry me. I tried to tell myself that on some level you wanted to, but if I'd been honest I would have admitted it was only sexual attraction.'

  'But it wasn't just sexual attraction.'

  Disregarding her denial, he said bleakly, 'I shouldn't have been blaming you for still loving him. I'm only too aware that no one can stop loving to order... God knows I've tried.'

  She knew he'd once loved someone, because when she'd asked, "Then you've never been in love?' he'd answered, 'Oh, yes, I have.' Now, watching the naked pain on his face, her heart bled for him.

  There was a long pause before he went on, 'After Sherrye had staged her coup, I did my utmost to find you. When I was unsuccessful, I tried to put you out of my mind, tried to stop loving you... That's the reason I gave up my flat. It held too many memories...'

  So it was her he'd loved... Warmth spread through her, bringing fresh life and dispelling all the previous desolation.

  'Then, when I'd abandoned all hope,' Blaze went on, 'you suddenly came back into my life. I tried to tell myself that I no longer cared. All my plans were made. Everything was cut and dried. But I took one look at you and I knew my feelings hadn't changed...'

  Hands clasped together, .she stayed motionless while gladness bubbled inside like a fountain of pure joy.

  'Only it wasn't that simple... I could no doubt have paid Melinda off, but you were in love with your fiancé... That's why I was pleased when Melinda and Varley ran off together. I told myself that he was no good, and you'd soon stop loving him. I convinced myself that I could make you love me.