by Jodi Taylor
Chapter Twenty
I had mixed feelings about being home again.
We were checked over. Peterson was admitted and Markham and I were remanded for the statutory twelve hours’ observation.
‘Why can I smell asparagus, too?’ demanded Markham.
‘Really?’ said Hunter, picking up a scanner. ‘A distorted sense of smell is sometimes indicative of a concussion. Have you been hitting yourself on the head again?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘How many fingers am I holding up?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, putting an artistic hand to his supposedly fevered brow. ‘Why don’t you take your clothes off and see if that helps me to concentrate.’
I don’t know why he bothers. Far from achieving his heart’s desire, he’d just opened himself up to a world of pain.
‘Bath,’ I said, heading in that direction.
They looked at the state of me.
‘I recommend a shower,’ said Hunter. ‘Or maybe two.’
‘Have you ever tried to drink a Margarita in a shower?’
‘No alcohol allowed.’
‘Oh, what a shame,’ I said, secure in the knowledge that my previously prepared bottle of ‘Essence of Lavender Relaxing Foam Bath – Guaranteed to Calm and Soothe,’ would be far more relaxing, calming, and soothing than the manufacturers could ever take credit for. Although there might be singing later on.
On the downside, there was now nothing between marriage and me. I couldn’t procrastinate any longer. In my absence, Kal and Helen had been busy.
We visited Mrs Mack who bundled us into her office. I shunted the kitchen cat, Vortigern, off a chair and we sat down.
‘Menus,’ she announced, putting on her spectacles and laying various bits of paper in front of me.
I stared blindly, trying not to panic, but there’s an established routine for this sort of ignorance and I fell back on it now.
‘Do you have any recommendations, Mrs Mack?’
‘Yes. This one.’
I scanned the page.
‘Yes, I like this one too.’
‘Excellent. And wine?’
‘Yes.’
They stared at me.
‘Certainly,’ I said, to reinforce the point. Just in case of confusion.
‘What sort?’ said Mrs Mack, patiently.
I pulled myself together. ‘Red and white. Two glasses each. After that, they pay for their own.’
‘And the toast?’
‘Champagne,’ said Kal, firmly.
Mrs Mack nodded. ‘Venue?’
That was easy. I could do that. ‘In the dining room. Overspill on the terrace. Inside if wet.’
She scribbled a note and closed the file. ‘Thank you, ladies.’
I was escorted out and we set off to Mrs Enderby.
‘I shall look like a lampshade,’ I said, gloomily as we clattered up the stairs. ‘Or a mushroom. Or a small pudding bowl. And I’m not wearing heels.’
‘For God’s sake,’ said Kal, pulling open the door to Wardrobe. ‘You clump about all day in a blue sack and with your hair in a sock bun. A pudding bowl would be a huge improvement. Stop whingeing and smile at Mrs Enderby.’
Mrs Enderby was gently reassuring and, in her own way, easily as remorseless as Kalinda and Mrs Mack. ‘I think you’ll find, when you see yourself in the mirror, Max, that you don’t look like a pudding bowl at all.’
I kicked off my boots and undressed, muttered a bit, and allowed myself to be eased into a dress. I put my arms in the sleeves and was neatly zipped up.
I saw Kal and Mrs Enderby exchange glances.
‘Slip these shoes on, dear,’ said Mrs Enderby. ‘Just so I can get the hem right.’
I eyed them suspiciously. ‘Heels.’
‘Just very small ones – just to give us an idea of the length.’
‘It’s like shoeing a horse,’ said Kal, as I lifted first one foot and then another. I was all set to protest, but they were actually quite pretty. And fairly comfortable. Not as comfy as my boots, of course, but even I could see the boots were a bit of a no-no at a wedding. Even sprayed with silver, like Cinderella’s slippers. I mentioned this to Kal.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A princess with glass boots. How could any prince resist? Now then – flowers?’ She was holding a checklist.
‘Yellow roses,’ I said. One of the things I was sure about. ‘Mr Strong will provide.’
‘Commendably decisive. Hair?’
‘Barring accidents, almost certainly.’
‘I mean – up? Down? Sideways?’
‘Piled up to give you height and then falling to your shoulders to contrast against the gold of the dress,’ said Mrs Enderby. ‘Make-up?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ said Kal. ‘Ignore her.’
‘I am the bride, you know.’
She handed me the checklist. ‘Get on with it then.’
I handed it back again. ‘Fine. I’ll wear makeup.’
‘Would you like to see yourself?’ asked Mrs Enderby who had finished twitching my skirts into place.
I braced myself. Perhaps the fat meringue look was fashionable this year. Turning to the mirror, I beheld a vision. I knew it was me, because of the lop-sided bun and terrified expression, but otherwise a complete stranger stared back at me. Mrs Enderby had based the style on the late Renaissance. A straight dress of soft gold, gathered under the bust, fell in gentle folds behind me. The sleeves were long and elegant. A low V-neck gave me a small cleavage but not excessively so. After all, I didn’t want to be struck down by an enraged deity right in the middle of a religious ceremony.
Kal dismantled my bun and rearranged my hair into something a little gentler.
‘Well,’ said Mrs Enderby, softly. ‘What do you think?’
I tore my eyes away. ‘I think it’s lovely, Mrs Enderby. Absolutely beautiful. You’re a genius.’
‘Yes,’ said Kal. ‘Now, we just need to get the shoes shorted. I’ll run you into Rushford and we’ll visit two or three shoe shops.’
‘No need,’ I said, glancing down at the really quite comfortable shoes I was already wearing. ‘These are just fine.’
‘Oh good,’ said Kal, in no way glancing at Mrs Enderby. ‘That’s very convenient, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, said Mrs Enderby, staring at the ceiling. ‘Very.’
I stared at them, but they were both perfectly straight-faced, so I let it go.
There was, however, a task that only I could perform. I walked very slowly to the Boss’s office, rehearsing words in my mind. Mrs Partridge waved me through.
The Boss was sitting at his desk, surrounded by multi-coloured files. Blue from the History department, green from Security, orange from the Technical Section, the back of an envelope from R & D …
‘Sorry, sir.’
He pushed aside his paperwork. ‘Please come in, Dr Maxwell.’
‘I can come back later.’
‘I order you to enter my office and interrupt me. Please sit down.’
‘I wanted to ask … I wanted to say …’
This was ridiculous. I’d sat here hundreds of times, bombarding him with words, talking him into assignments, talking myself out of trouble (and sometimes straight back into it again) and now, when I particularly needed them, the words just wouldn’t come.
I took several deep breaths and said, ‘Sir, I would be greatly honoured if you would give me away at my wedding.’
Silence.
Shit. Had I contravened some rule or reg? Yes, almost certainly. It’s what I do.
He sat back and smiled. ‘The honour would be mine, Max. I shall be delighted to do so.’
Relief flowed off me like … like something relief flows off from a lot. My brain wasn’t working that clearly.
‘Thank you, sir. That’s a huge weight off my mind.’
And it was. Suddenly, I felt a whole lot better.
He smiled again. Twice in one day. Matrimony must be
having a mellowing effect on him as well. ‘I must confess, I was rather hoping you would ask. I’ve asked Wardrobe to send my uniform to the cleaners, just in case, and Mrs Partridge has been running me through the formalities. There seems to be a great deal to do.’
I said gloomily, ‘You should try being the bride, sir.’
‘Yes, I can see that you are dancing through the days in a rapture of dizzy anticipation.’
I sighed and sought to change the subject. ‘That reminds me, sir, while I’m here, shall I sign the paperwork?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The invoices, sir. Or will you deduct things directly?’
‘Deduct what directly?’
‘My share of the wedding expenses, sir.’
‘I’m afraid I am unable to comply, having been instructed by Chief Farrell that all expenses will be met by him, and I have to say, Max, that since I’m far more frightened of him than I am of you, I shall obey.’
‘But they must be massive.’
‘No, I don’t believe so. Your requests actually seem to me to be very modest.’
‘I don’t want a spectacle, sir. Just two people exchanging their vows in front of their friends who join them in a small celebration afterwards.’
‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I’m not sure St Mary’s is completely up to speed with the phrase “small celebration,” but we shall see.’
I stared at my hands and he watched me for a while.
‘Max, what is it? What is causing you this unease?’
I floundered helplessly in a sea of unspoken words. Nothing came out.
‘He is a good man, Max. You know that.’
‘I do know that, sir. It’s just – I worry I’m not a good woman.’
He got up and limped around the table. I stood up and he took my hand.
‘Neither Leon nor I harbour any doubts on that score. You make him happy.’
I swallowed.
‘Of course, you also make him angry, frustrated, impatient, exasperated, despairing, and furious. Emotions in which I sometimes share, but I, like Leon, wouldn’t change a hair on your head.’
I hung my unchanged head and whispered, ‘Thank you, sir.’
He stepped back behind his desk. ‘There was something else – what was it? Ah, yes. A set of desert fatigues appear to have gone missing. Are you able to shed any light on this sorry matter?’
‘Peterson, sir,’ I said, abandoning him to the wrath of Dr Bairstow without any hesitation whatsoever. ‘He took off his clothes when we met Ephialtes and we forgot to get them back.’
‘Really? How extraordinary. I personally find a formal handshake usually suffices, but obviously, Dr Peterson has his own very unique way of forming new acquaintanceships. Carry on, Dr Maxwell.’
The day came. We were to be married in the early evening. At dusk. That magical time between day and night.
I was dressed, made-up, hair done, and waiting for something to go wrong.
I didn’t know what – my anxiety wasn’t related to anything specific – just an all-encompassing, gut-churning expectation that something dreadful would happen. In an effort to allay my fears, I thought I would compile a list of everything that could possibly happen, read it aloud to myself, see how stupid I was being, and then cathartically consign it to the WPB file with a practised throw.
I worked my way through Leon falling through some sort of temporal crack – I don’t know, any sort of temporal crack; Markham accidentally setting fire to the chapel; some idiot raising their hand at the ‘just cause or impediment’ bit; Clive Ronan swinging by, just to cause trouble; Dr Bairstow forbidding the marriage; my being shot again …
Normal people just have to worry about the flowers not turning up or Uncle Henry goosing the bridesmaids …
‘What have you got there?’ said Kal, twitching my list out of my hand. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Max. Helen, listen to this …’
I twitched it back again. ‘Why are you here?’
‘We’re your bridesmaids.’
‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m not having any.’
‘Yes you are.’
‘And if I was, it wouldn’t be you two.’
‘But we’re in our posh frocks and Helen’s put on lipstick.’
I drew breath, but someone knocked at the door, possibly to tell me that the chapel had been the on the receiving end of a direct nuclear strike.
It was Mr Strong, clutching a bunch of perfect yellow roses. At some point, they’d passed through Mrs Enderby’s hands because they were wrapped in a long, trailing bow made of the same golden material as my dress.
The sight of the flowers hit me hard. This was a bridal bouquet. I was getting married. I was actually getting married. The enveloping panic made my head spin.
‘Alcohol, quick.’ said Kal, looking around the room. ‘There’s bound to be some somewhere.’
She was out of luck. All my gear had been carted off to my new room. The one I would share with Leon. After we were married. Oh God, I was getting married …
Another knock at the door. This was it.
Helen opened the door to Dr Bairstow.
‘Good evening, sir.’
‘Dr Foster, Dr Black, good evening. And how is the patient?’
‘Panicking, sir.’
‘Only to be expected.’ He flourished a bottle of something. ‘Ladies, you are relieved.’
They picked up their skirts. I could hear their footsteps clattering off down the stairs and we were alone.
‘Well, Max, how are you feeling?’
‘Very nervous, sir.’
‘Well, of course you are. It’s a big step.’
‘Into the unknown.’
‘That shouldn’t frighten you, of all people. It’s what you do. You took a step into the unknown when you placed your trust in Mrs De Winter. You took another jump into the unknown when you were recruited by St Mary’s. You took a giant leap into the unknown after Agincourt and I have no doubt that when the time comes, at the end of a long and happy life, you will positively hurl yourself into the next world. I have no fears for you. None at all. The unknown is your playground.’
He picked up the piece of paper.
‘What’s this?’
‘Oh, that’s my disaster list, sir. You know me, always prepared for any eventuality.’
‘Really? I must have missed that over the years. What a shame. Let me see …’ He scanned down my list of potential catastrophes. ‘No. No. Good heavens! Possibly. No. Probably not. No. No. Yes, almost certainly. No.’ He screwed up the list. ‘I think, on balance of probability, Max, almost nothing to worry about.’
I changed the subject. ‘Did I see a bottle, sir?’
‘You did indeed. Anticipating a certain level of apprehension, I came prepared.’
‘And glasses, too. I’m impressed, sir.’
He sighed. ‘I have been in charge of this unit for a great many years now. I know what is required of me.’
As he spoke, he opened the bottle and poured the fire juice.
‘Just a very little for you, Max. I can’t have you drunk on my watch. Never mind what Leon would say, Dr Black would almost certainly come looking for me afterwards.’
He handed me a glass and we looked at each other.
‘Well,’ he said, eventually. ‘Did you ever think this day would come?’
I shook my head.
‘I still remember your first day here. The day we met. You stumped into my office with, as I believe I remarked to Mrs Partridge afterwards, an armful of qualifications and a bucketful of attitude and nothing has ever been quite the same since.’
‘Nor for me.’ I took a deep, wobbly breath. ‘Sir, if I had ever been able to choose my own father …’
He said softly, ‘It’s been an honour and a privilege, Max.’
‘And for me too, sir.’
We clinked glasses. I sipped very cautiously. Sometimes, you never knew what he was handing you. We stood together as the shadows crept
across the darkening room. My last few minutes as a single person.
His watch beeped.
‘We’re under starter’s orders, Max. Time to go. Are you ready?’
‘I am, sir.’
He offered me his arm.
‘May I say, my dear, that you look quite beautiful.’
‘Thank you, sir. May I say that at this moment, there is no one I would rather have with me.’
He cleared his throat and patted my hand.
‘Off we go, then.’
We negotiated the stairs and set off across the deserted hall. Voices came back to me from down the years, whispering in the shadows.
‘David Sands, don’t go into Rushford today.’
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to Troy!’
‘Miss Black, there are two “p”s in oppressed and only one “n” in minority. You are neither.’
‘You left them to die, you traitorous bitch!’
‘Enemy at the gates! Good luck everyone!’
I shook myself a little. Old ghosts.
Together, we moved slowly across the Hall towards the chapel.
The click of Dr Bairstow’s stick sounded very loud on the stone floor.
The tiny chapel glowed in the gentle candlelight. Built originally for the family in residence and their servants, today it was packed. I was vaguely aware of the murmur of many people. I saw Leon, standing by the altar with Dieter. Even as I looked, he turned around and smiled for me alone, and all my doubts and fears suddenly became as insubstantial as early morning mist.
Silence fell.
Someone coughed.
The music started.
Everyone was looking at me.
‘Remember,’ whispered Dr Bairstow. ‘Slow and stately.’
I nodded.
‘We should, perhaps, synchronise our limps.’
I choked out a laugh.
‘Are you ready, Max?’
I lifted my chin. ‘I am.’
‘Then let us begin.’
I kept my eyes on Leon the whole time.
He said his vows. I said mine. He held my hands throughout and never looked away. His hands were warm and steady. Like his voice. And his eyes.
I, alas, vibrated like a tuning fork all the way through the ceremony.
When it was done, we turned, walked back down the aisle, and stepped out into the magical dusk. Into an enchanted world of white lanterns, candles, and tea lights. Fairy lights lit a golden path ahead of us. White ribbons had been tied around every tree trunk. In the distance, soft music drifted across the darkening gardens.
