by Laura Briggs
We hadn't talked about the elephant in the room, either. And it wasn't the piranhas or the man-eating snakes of the Amazonian jungles. We'd been carefully avoiding the subject of Matt's biopsy for days now, ever since he had revealed the truth to me. Instead, we talked about his research trip, and my busy life in Cornwall while we were apart.
In this calm and comfortable moment, the last thing I wanted to think about was that moment in the future. But I couldn't help but think about it, with my hand so close to Matt's beating heart.
"When will you know?" I asked, softly.
The humor faded from his gaze. "A week," he said. "Possibly sooner ... but there could be a delay, even, depending upon the number of tests the lab is processing.”
A week. I pictured the biopsy mark beneath the bandage, and tried not to feel afraid.
"Let's not talk about it," he said, softly. His fingers stroked my shoulder, lightly. "Not yet."
"Not if you don't want to," I said. Talking about it would be painful, especially for Matthew. I desperately needed to do it, though, before he knew the answers about his health. "I only want you to know that whatever it is ... it doesn't change anything for me."
It changed everything else, of course. We both knew that. That's why Matt's eyes grew still more tender, and why my own burned for a moment with tears gathering just beneath the surface. This moment felt fragile, like something we were holding in our hands, about to let it fall and shatter below.
Fiercely, I blinked those tears away. Matt was working hard to hide the worry lingering just beneath his surface. "I did see a big python in South America," he said, after a moment, in a lighter tone of voice. "Twelve meters long, and quite capable of eating someone."
"You didn't," I challenged, picking up on his cue.
"There's photographic proof," he said. "I'll have to show you the photos. There's a beautiful one of the plant we were observing, when its flowers were only beginning to open. I took it one morning just after sunrise."
"No chance you brought back a cutting, smuggled in your pocket for transplant?" I asked. "Lady Amanda would probably give you a hundred pounds for it."
"Not on your life," said Matt, smiling. "No self-respecting scientist would steal a rare native plant. Even for two hundred pounds."
Gazing at him, etching his face into my memory permanently, I felt how completely I was in love with him. The feelings I had for him were so strong and deep. I hadn't even known Matthew for a full year of my life yet, but I couldn't picture it without him. And what if I had to? Constance's words on love being all that mattered, no matter the length of one's life, came back to me now with the full force of its meaning for myself.
My eyes traced Matt's features, drank in the beauty of his dark coffee eyes that seemed almost black. And I realized that I wanted more than anything to spend our lives together, no matter how much time we had. I wanted to tell him that no matter what the test revealed, that's what I intended to do.
Me throwing my arms around Matthew Rose and proposing marriage — I imagined the reaction that would provoke in the calm, self-possessed gardener beside me. I imagined myself doing it in the middle of one of Cliffs House's flower gardens, telling him to marry me here and now despite his muddy trousers and boots, my impractical heels and skirt, and the lack of a vicar on the grounds.
I found myself almost laughing aloud at this point. I wondered what Matt would say if he could read my thoughts now, and knew that despite that ludicrous picture, the feelings behind it were still real. I wanted to marry Matthew, for a year or a hundred of them, as Constance would say.
Matt's hand traced the skin just below my blouse's sleeve as he gazed at the candle burning on the mantel. "What are you thinking?" I asked him.
He glanced at me. "Nothing," he said, softly. "Lost in thought. But nothing that matters now."
So he wasn't thinking the same thing I was. It would have been too much of a coincidence, I supposed. It was impossible for Matt to read my mind every time I wanted it, right?
"Maybe Lady Amanda needs to think outside the box," said Matt, after we had both been silent for a little while. "Perhaps you could persuade her to think of something that wouldn't necessarily need to be purchased, but something that would be a connection between herself and Constance. A journal from when they traveled together, for instance ... or maybe just a letter telling her how much those experiences meant."
"Something with sentimental value only," I said.
"From the heart. Exactly," said Matt. "That's what Lady Amanda needs in a gift for her friend."
It made sense. And I tried hard to think of how to put that into words for my employer as I snuggled closer to Matt, feeling his free hand cover mine.
***
I knew Lady Amanda would be in her office in the morning, as soon as she returned from a meeting with a local businessman about his new website. She breezed in hurriedly around ten A.M., dropping her tote bag near her desk, and brushing aside the trailing ends of her scarf headband as it swung against her shoulder.
"Fancy seeing you here!" she said, as I sat up straighter in the cozy armchair across from her desk. "Did we have a meeting this morning? If so, it's completely flown out of my head, what with the website crashing — again — due to some sort of hacker's virus. Some arrogant schoolchild genius's idea of fun, I suppose."
"Don't worry, we didn't have anything scheduled," I said. "I just wanted to talk to you about a few things."
"Is it the wedding?" Lady Amanda asked. "I think everything's been handled splendidly, Julianne. Dinah assures me that the cakes will be perfectly easy to assemble, and she already has four dozen savory biscuits popped in the freezer for safekeeping. You know, Joseph is bringing the special vintage for toasting their nuptials — and I was thinking for the other guests, it would be nice to have a glass apiece from Joseph's old vineyard, so I persuaded William to let me order a dozen from the bottle shop. A very reasonably priced red wine, and we can serve the unopened ones later at table ...."
"It's nothing about the reception, really," I began, trying to decide where I was going with this speech, one that was likely to disappoint the woman before me. As Lady Amanda had been talking, she had also been emptying the contents of her tote bag, a pile of brochures and business plans forming on her desk, among them being what looked like a green ceramic blob. I noticed it in particular at this moment.
"Did a knickknack from your desk end up in your bag?" I asked, puzzled.
"Oh, this?" Amanda laughed. "No, it's my first sculpture from my class, actually. My instructor finally remembered to give it to me yesterday — he had left it next to the drying oven last time."
I lifted it. What I mistook for a green, glossy blob took on the definite form of a tree one held upright; one with curvy, droopy limbs and clusters of foliage, its jade green streaked with emerald.
"Rather silly, isn't it? It's supposed to be a bracelet tree for Mum," said Lady Amanda. "I made a paperweight for William with my second try, which was much better-looking than that. He uses it to hold down receipts from the gift shop."
I remembered seeing a modern-looking sculpture on William's desk, a marbled white and brown object shaped almost like a cliff, with little waves of grey rippling along its base.
"So what does your instructor think of your work?" I asked, placing the tree on her desk. A little vision of possibility had begun to take form in my head. "Constance said you had the hands of a sculptor."
"Oh, rubbish," said Lady Amanda. "He says I'm decent enough for a beginner, but I'll hardly be the next Michelangelo. I'm rather struggling with his latest lesson ... sometimes I wish I'd taken pottery instead," she joked, as she tidied the papers from her carryall. "I could be making very useful clay jars and vases right now if I had."
"Lady Amanda," I said. "I have an idea."
***
The morning of Constance's wedding dawned with perfect weather, which was a testament to its uniqueness as England's southernmost county. No rain dri
zzled from the sky, only clear sunlight breaking above the restless shore, bathing the cliffs and sand in white.
In the tea garden, the daffodils and paperwhites that Matt had planted were in full bloom, a rising sea of blossoms in every bed and container, the breeze fanning the ornamental grasses and the ground cover's carpet of miniscule white flowers in between. It was a picture worth beholding when I opened the drapes, and began putting in place the final details to make this wedding perfect.
At the end of the garden pathway, I arranged tiny little battery-operated votives in birch candleholders and simple white tulips at the base of the driftwood altar where the couple would take their vows. In the parlor, the furniture had moved to create plenty of standing room, and a bower of evergreen and white tulips decorated the mantel. I draped the serving table with a flawless white cloth, and decorated it with the birch candleholders and pinecones. Now it was only waiting for Dinah's serving trays to arrive. Displayed in the very center, the bride's small bouquet of narcissus and lavender, placed in a crystal vase.
By the time guests began arriving from the train station — a mix of painters, vineyard owners, gallery curators, and businesspeople from various points in the U.K., Ireland, France, and Italy — Constance definitely knew something was up. Lady Amanda insisted on keeping her sequestered upstairs on a pretense of fussing with Constance's hair and dress, but it was obvious that the bride knew her friend had made some changes to the wedding's guest list.
"Who are all those people?" she asked. "I hear several voices — that can't possibly be only Toni and Angelo down there."
"Hold still, dear," said Amanda, who was using a light mousse to tousle Constance's hair into a slightly more elegant version of itself. "I can hardly finish your hair if you keep trying to spring up from the chair."
"Well, I'm quite concerned, if you must know. What on earth is going on down there?" said Constance.
"Oh, nothing," I said.
I had just finished a few last-minute, primping touches to Constance's bouquet on the table, and the smaller version meant for Lady Amanda, who was standing as chief bridesmaid, and one of the marriage's witnesses. "Just a little furniture rearranging in one of the parlors, that's all," I explained. "There's an event coming up soon."
I exchanged glances with Lady Amanda above the bride-to-be's head. Constance caught part of it in the mirror, however, and cast a decidedly suspicious eye at both of us.
When Constance reached the stairs, looking elegant in her simple gown and Lady Amanda's pearl teardrop earrings, the secret plans her friend had made were fully obvious. For the doors to the parlor were wide open, along with the French ones leading to the garden just beyond it. The candles were aglow, with the guests waiting on either side of the newly-decorated room, gazing expectantly towards the stairs. And Joseph, his morning suit's top hat in hand, was standing at the foot of the steps, holding out his free one to his bride.
Constance stopped short at the top of the stairs. I couldn't help but smile at the expression on her face, part astonishment, part exasperation, and — most definitely — part pleasure.
She looked at Lady Amanda. "And what's all this?" she demanded.
"It's your wedding," said Lady Amanda, cheerily. "What do you think it is?"
"All this fuss," began Constance, two pink spots appearing on her cheeks. "I thought I said it wasn't necessary."
"Nonsense," said Lady Amanda. "Come on now. Everyone's waiting for the bride-to-be's grand entrance." Lady Amanda handed her the bouquet. "And the handsome gentleman below doesn't deserve to wait any longer."
True to Constance's word, about Joseph's looks, the groom was handsome: a tall, active-looking man whose white beard was carefully trimmed, and whose skin was the same sun-drenched shade of Constance's own from years of outdoor living in Italy. His eyes lit up the moment Constance appeared, and a smile broke across his lips, illuminating his whole face. I was sure that Constance blushed as she took his hand.
He led her towards the garden, where the vicar waited behind the driftwood altar, as Lady Amanda and I followed, dressed in our best. Guests squeezed into the garden wherever there was room, or stood in the doorway of the parlor where the reception would be held.
All during the ceremony, Lady Amanda stood beaming beside Lord William, among the cluster of good friends and relations who were gathered between the flower beds and urns. I stood near the back, beside Matthew, who had arrived a little later than the rest of the guests.
He was wearing the suit I remembered from the night he came to take me for a walk in the gardens, the night of my first big wedding at Cliffs House (or anywhere, for that matter). It was then that I had first told Matt I had feelings for him, after knowing him mere weeks.
It had been nearly a year ago — time had flown by, but it felt like yesterday that I saw him on the cliffs for the first time. That I kissed him for the first time, on impulse, mere moments after my first triumph as an event planner. Now here we were, side by side, celebrating the surprise and happiness that love creates. I took a deep breath, catching the faint scent of fresh earth and spring flowers, the salt of the sea breeze, and a hint of Matt's familiar aftershave. A perfect combination, I decided.
Afterwards, everyone sampled Dinah's scrumptious savories and desserts, with plenty of impressed compliments paid to the mushroom-shaped chocolate truffles and the clever roasted garlic and shallot snowdrops. Joseph was obviously touched by the special effort made with his favorite dessert as he sliced the chocolate gateau log, its delicate ruffles of white chocolate mushrooms looking almost exactly like the real thing. And it tasted heavenly, too — Matthew and I split a piece of each cake, both arguing heartily about which one was the best.
When the bottle of wine was opened, it was Joseph himself who proposed the toast. "To the woman who has given me every reason to live as long as I may. The blessing of my life — Constance."
He lifted his glass, hearty cheers echoing his last words. Gemma passed me a glass of wine and I lifted it to my lips, tasting something rich and red with a fragrant bouquet.
"Isn't it romantic?" sighed Pippa. She took a sip from her glass. "Still— I hope I'm not sixty before I find the love of my life!"
"I don't think you have to worry about that," I said. "Plenty of blokes are chasing you — Gregory, for instance."
"Don't mention that name to me, thank you," muttered Pippa darkly. I surmised that Gregory, with his half-dead bouquet and thin excuses — was now history.
Constance held out her hand as I approached midway through the reception. "I suppose I owe you thanks for this sumptuous event, as Amanda's co-conspirator," she said.
"Well, maybe a little," I said. "But the credit's really all hers. I just followed along with the plan."
Constance scrutinized me. "I suppose I'll believe you," she said, at last, with a hint of a smile. "And here is your handsome escort, too. No pressing engagements held you back, Doctor Rose, did they?"
"None at all," he answered, with a smile. I realized this was the first time I'd heard anyone in Cornwall address him by his title. I wondered if it seemed strange to him, since people in Boston probably called him by it every day. But Matthew had always preferred being plain Matthew Rose, he had told me.
"I want you both to meet the love of my life," Constance continued. "Joseph — come and meet that young woman I was telling you about, and the young man who's been wise enough to offer her his attentions."
"A pleasure," said Joseph, shaking hands with us. "Constance had spoken a great deal about her friends in Cornwall. I could scarcely wait to come and meet them all."
His kind voice made me like him instantly — but what made me like him even more was the way he kept Constance's hand in his own when they were together. He lifted it to his lips when he thought no one was watching, and squeezed it tenderly before they were parted by friends in conversation.
I felt Matthew's arm around my waist. I glanced at him and we exchanged knowing smiles.
; It was at this point that Lady Amanda made her way through the guests, with a small package in her hands, one wrapped in light pink paper and tied with several curly ribbons. Her smile was a nervous one as she placed it between Constance's own.
"It isn't quite what I hoped it would be," she explained to Constance, with an apologetic smile. "I certainly hope in this case that it's the thought that counts."
"You've already done too much," protested Constance. "I can't imagine what it is - I do hope you haven't spent a fortune, my dear." She untied the beautiful loops of ribbon around the box.
I slipped from Matthew's embrace and stole closer, watching Lady Amanda take a deep breath, trying to hide her anxiousness. Constance opened the box, lifting an object wrapped in tissue paper.
Its layers parted to reveal a pale, milky-white base from which fluted, curving stems rose, tinted softly with green. From each one emerged a flower, its head nodding towards the ground as if the blossoms were all sleepy. The petals were iridescent ones made of mother of pearl — polished oyster shells from the Cornish beach, I imagined — and transparent crystals that glittered in the light.
Pearly buds, broad, miniature leaves, delicate grace. I knew without seeing Constance's sketches from the Belgian forest that this was the plant she had painted the day Joseph proposed.
For a moment, Constance was simply silent. Her hands held the sculpture perfectly still; in her eyes, I saw the first glint of tears.
"Why ..." she began, softly. "Why ... I always knew you had a sculptor's gift." Her voice was slightly thick for these words.
"So you like it?" Lady Amanda asked. She looked relieved now, her breath coming out in a long sigh. "It's not quite right — you can see the little marks on the leaves where I —"
"It's perfect," said Constance. She took Lady Amanda's hand in one of hers, squeezing it tightly. "Quite perfect as it is, I assure you." Her arms closed around Lady Amanda, hugging her close.
