by Betty Neels
Oh, yes. This was hand-holding on an epic scale.
‘You’re absolutely sure?’ he asked, finally looking up at her.
As her hand began to tremble, betraying her calm exterior for the act it was, she snatched it back, pretending to take a closer look at the ring.
His touch had meant nothing; she must read nothing into it. He was simply concerned that she was choosing the plainest ring in the tray out of some misplaced reticence.
Utility wife, utility ring.
She reassured him. ‘Mark, this is the ring I’d choose if I were marrying the Sultan of Zanzibar.’
He continued to regard her with his steady grey eyes. ‘Are you telling me I’ve got competition?’
‘Absolutely,’ she replied, matching his serious expression. ‘He calls me day and night, begging me to join his harem.’
‘Is that right? Well, next time he calls, tell him you’re spoken for.’ He turned to the jeweller with a smile. ‘That was surprisingly easy.’
‘The young lady certainly seems to know her own mind. A classic choice, if I may say so. Now, if I can just check your size, sir, I’ll bring a matching ring for you to try.’
‘Oh, but—’
Jane felt rather than saw Mark’s small instinctive gesture as he curled his fingers, lifting his hand back no more than an inch. It was enough for her to see that he was still wearing the ring that Caroline had placed there.
‘There’s no time right now, Mark,’ she said quickly. ‘We have to get to the bank.’ It was the first thing that came into her head. That and regret that she hadn’t kept to her original plan to tell him that she wanted to wear her great-grandmother’s ring. This was exactly the kind of situation she’d been hoping to avoid. She wanted everything to go as smoothly as possible. She didn’t want him jerked into painful reminders at every turn. But she’d been betrayed by the need to be noticed, recognised. By her singing pleasure that he’d been thinking about her. ‘And Shuli will be getting hungry.’
Once outside, he stopped and said, ‘I’m sorry, Jane.’ She covered his left hand briefly with her own in a wordless gesture of comfort. She could not bring herself to say that it didn’t matter.
It did.
Back in the office, she ensured that her replacement was coping and then collected Shuli from the care of a curious receptionist so that everyone could work in peace.
‘Is it true that you’re leaving?’
With Patsy installed at her desk, already busy organising her own replacement, she could hardly deny it. Why would she want to deny it? ‘Yes, it’s true. Patsy’s taking over from today, although I’ll be in and out for the rest of the week,’ she said, fastening the little girl into her pushchair.
‘It’s a bit sudden, isn’t it? There’s a wild rumour going around that you’re marrying Mark Hilliard.’ She said it as if it had to be some kind of joke, but Jane wasn’t in the mood to be patronised, and since Mark had already informed his doubtless much relieved partners of the imminent improvement in his domestic situation it was scarcely a secret.
‘Is there? Well, even a wild rumour has to be right once in a blue moon,’ she said. And came close to adding that the speed of the wedding was due entirely to the fact that she was pregnant. With triplets.
She restrained herself in the sure and certain knowledge that the rumour machine was already way ahead of her with that one. Instead she contented herself with a smile, adding, ‘If anyone is looking for me, I’m taking Shuli shopping for something totally gorgeous to wear for the occasion.’ She didn’t say which of them the ‘totally gorgeous’ something was for.
Mark returned to his office, but couldn’t concentrate on work. Instead he sat at his desk, turning the wedding ring round and round on his finger. It was so much a part of him that it hadn’t occurred to him that he would be expected to wear a new one. It did occur to him that he wasn’t thinking about anything very much except his own feelings.
Jane had covered for him when he’d instinctively recoiled from the thought of a new ring. She had reached out to him offering instant reassurance rather than the reproach he’d deserved. The warmth of her touch still lingered comfortingly against his skin.
Only her eyes, huge and brown, had momentarily betrayed her hurt at his thoughtlessness.
He took one last look at the ring before slipping it from his finger, then, uncertain what to do with it, he tucked it away in his wallet before reaching for the intercom. ‘Penny?’ No, that wasn’t right. ‘Pansy?’
‘Try Patsy,’ a disembodied voice advised.
‘Patsy. Of course. Sorry. I have to go out for half an hour. Can you ring round and put back the weekly progress meeting?’
‘No problem. Everyone will understand.’ Then, ‘Look, I don’t know if I did the right thing, but I’ve made a provisional booking at the Waterside for lunch on Tuesday.’
About to ask why she’d thought that necessary, he just managed to stop himself in time. ‘Did Jane ask you to do that?’
‘No, I used my own initiative. She said you’d want me to.’ After another pause, ‘If you’ve made other plans I can cancel, but Jane said you weren’t going away. I thought you might like to surprise her.’
‘And your initiative suggested lunch at the Waterside would be a suitable surprise?’
‘Absolutely. If I’d just been swept off my feet with a whirlwind wedding I’d want a romantic lunch somewhere quiet by the river. Well, short of Paris in the spring.’
Paris? Jane wouldn’t expect to be taken away, would she? He tried to imagine walking along the banks of the Seine at night with Jane. The picture wouldn’t come into focus. ‘Paris will have to wait until we’ve signed the Maybridge contract, I’m afraid. And when you confirm the reservation at the Waterside make sure they’ve got a high-chair, will you?’
‘Is Shuli going to be a bridesmaid? How sweet. Do you want me to organise flowers?’
Rings, flowers, bridesmaids. What had happened to the simple no-nonsense ceremony he’d envisaged? He recalled the uneasy feeling he’d had that it couldn’t be that easy. And wondered what else he’d overlooked.
As he tensed his hand he could still feel the ring that until a few minutes ago had been part of him. Could still see the mark, feel the weight of it.
Could still feel the warmth of Jane’s reassuring touch.
Then, realising that Patsy was still waiting, he said, ‘No. Thank you. I’d rather organise the flowers myself. I’ll be out of the office for about half an hour.’
Choosing the flowers was a pleasure, he discovered, until, opening his wallet to get out his charge card, he saw the wedding ring glinting in its depths. It brought back the flash of hurt in Jane’s eyes and he tried to imagine how she’d feel if she ever saw the ring. Or found it in the back of a drawer.
He didn’t want, ever, to make her look like that again. She deserved his total loyalty.
Which was why, on his way back to the office, he took a detour by the river and dropped the ring into the deepest part.
CHAPTER FOUR
MARK was waiting on the steps of the Town Hall, the white rosebud in his buttonhole drawing indulgent glances from people passing in and out of the building. Shuli, wearing her new dress, a ribbon-tied posy clutched in her chubby hand, was fidgeting at his side. He was looking at his watch.
‘I told you we shouldn’t be late,’ Jane said, as the taxi came to halt.
‘Nonsense,’ Laine declared. ‘You have to give a man time to look into the void. Consider what life would be like if you didn’t turn up. You’re Miss Cool. You know that.’
She knew nothing. She’d spent the night looking into her own dark void, considering what life would be like if she’d got it wrong. Then this morning the florist had arrived with a spray of rosebuds and white freesias arranged in a silver Victorian flower holder, with a card from Mark that simply said ‘Thank you.’ And her cool façade had been washed away on a hot tide of tears.
It had taken a ton of concealer to
cover the black rings and blotchy skin before Laine had arrived to put the finishing touches, help her with her hair. Help her dress in the fine cashmere shalwar kameez that had cost a month’s salary.
Laine had whisked her to the boutique and wouldn’t let her leave until she’d bought it. ‘It’s a wonderful compromise. Really special, but you’ll be able to wear it anywhere…’
Now, after adjusting the long chiffon silk scarf Jane had wound once around her neck, leaving the long tails to trail behind her in the merest suggestion of a bridal veil, Laine handed her the spray of flowers and said, ‘Well, what are you waiting for? He’ll take one look and won’t believe just how clever he’s been.’
Was ‘clever’ going to be enough? Stepping out of the taxi, Jane couldn’t quite meet Mark’s eyes, afraid of what she might see there. Or rather not see there. Instead she swooped to gather the little girl into her arms. ‘Darling, don’t you look just good enough to eat!’
‘You’re supposed to say that to the groom, Jane.’ Laine offered her hand to Mark, introduced herself. ‘I’m Jane’s best woman. We’ve been friends since nursery school.’ She turned to the man behind her. ‘And this is Greg,’ she said, linking her arm with his. ‘He’s my best man and I’m hoping he’ll be sufficiently inspired by today’s simple and painless ceremony to follow your great example to pusillanimous men everywhere.’
‘Sorry, Laine, but I don’t think I can help you there. My heart is as faint as the next man’s.’
Jane, already a bundle of nerves, thought she was the one who’d faint. He’d got cold feet. Decided this was all a huge mistake. She’d have to leave the town. The county. Possibly the country.
‘It seems to be taking all my time to remember to breathe,’ he said. ‘Inspiration is quite beyond me. It’s all Jane’s fault.’ Putting Shuli down before she dropped her, Jane looked up sharply. ‘I’ve spent the last five minutes convinced that you’d changed your mind.’
‘I wouldn’t leave you standing here, Mark,’ she said, hurt that he’d believe her capable of such cruelty.
Laine, behind him, lifted one expressive brow, then said, ‘The traffic was terrible.’
This was a nightmare. So stiff, so formal. ‘Thank you for the flowers…’ Jane’s voice failed her, dying away to leave an awkward silence.
‘Look, I don’t want to rush you two,’ Greg said, coming to the rescue, ‘but I think that’s the next wedding party arriving.’
Jane turned and saw two young people surrounded by friends, all of them laughing, happy.
‘Are you ready?’ Mark asked. And she nodded, her throat too stuffed with what felt like hot rocks to speak. Would she be able to say her vows? Would nodding count?
‘She’s ready,’ Laine said, taking Shuli’s hand and leading the way, turning back to add flippantly, ‘I just hope you haven’t forgotten the rings.’
Jane flinched and, looking anywhere but at the man she was about to marry, she blinked back a tear. Laine was right. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
If anyone had asked him to describe Jane Carmichael, Mark knew he would have been pressed to say much more than that she was a plain little thing. That the black suits she habitually wore never quite seemed right and she fought a constant battle to control a mass of hair that was neither black nor properly brown. That she had kind eyes. Smiled easily. Was comfortable to be with.
Her arrival outside the Town Hall had shattered that image of her.
‘…I, Mark Edward Hilliard, take you, Jane Louise Carmichael…’ Jane listened to his low, steady voice as he made the solemn vow. Then it was her turn to repeat the words after the registrar.
‘…I, Jane Louise Carmichael…’ Her voice had never seemed so faint, but she made it through without a mistake.
The registrar smiled at Mark. ‘Do you have the rings?’
He produced the ring she’d chosen from his pocket and placed it on her finger, again repeating the solemn words. But when she would have turned back to the registrar he opened his hand. Lying in his palm was another ring, bright and new as the one he’d just placed on her own finger. A matching pair.
Only then did she realise that his left hand was bare, with just a lighter band of skin to show where another ring had once been.
The registrar, noticing nothing odd, prompted her promise. But her fingers were shaking as she took the ring and placed it on his finger. Her voice was shaking, too, as she made her promise. Had he thought of the meaning as he’d said his vows?
‘You may kiss the bride.’
The momentary hesitation before he brushed his lips lightly against her own answered that particular question.
‘Daddy!’ He looked down at Shuli. ‘Can I have a baby brother now?’
‘Shh! Not now, sweetie,’ Jane said, scooping her up to distract her while Mark signed the register. Then she did the same, her signature shakier than usual.
‘Would you like to join us for lunch?’ Mark asked Laine and Greg as they all left the registrar’s office. ‘I’ve got a table at the Waterside.’
Jane turned, astonished, to look up at him. ‘The Waterside? When did you organise that?’
‘I didn’t. It was Patsy’s idea. She was practising using her initiative.’
‘Really? I didn’t think she was that good,’ she joked. Joked! Inside, she was shrivelling up at the make-believe of a romantic lunch together, and she turned to Laine. ‘Of course you must come.’
Her friend, apparently reading the panic signal loud and clear, said, ‘Try and stop us.’
‘She arranged a car, too.’ Mark offered a half-smile. ‘Maybe she thought I’d be too nervous to drive myself.’
‘Maybe she thought you’d be swimming in champagne,’ Greg suggested.
‘If that’s the case I imagine it’s already on ice.’
‘Well, I sincerely hope so,’ Laine said. ‘This is Jane’s big day.’
‘I wonder if you’d go and see if the driver is there?’ he asked, without comment. ‘I said to come back at twelve. And could you take Shuli with you? We’ll be along in a minute.’
‘It’ll be back to normal tomorrow,’ Jane said quickly as he turned to her.
‘I do hope not. “Normal” has been a nightmare.’
‘Not any more.’
‘No.’
She waited.
‘I just wanted to tell you how lovely you look. I’ve never seen your hair loose before.’
She didn’t wear it loose very often. It took an entire bottle of conditioner to tame it. But for today she’d made the effort, catching it at her nape with an ebony clasp and leaving it to hang down her back. ‘It would be a nuisance in the office.’
‘That won’t be a problem any more.’ He lifted her hand, looked at the ring he’d so recently placed on her finger. ‘It looks a bit lonely all by itself, don’t you think?’ But he clearly didn’t expect an answer because he reached into his jacket pocket and, spreading her fingers, slipped another ring beside the gold band.
The diamonds flashed back at her in the sunlight. Three considerable diamonds that had been set gypsy-style, almost flush in the gold. ‘I’m sure the Sultan of Zanzibar would have given you a diamond as big as a paperweight. But, since you won’t be sitting in a harem with nothing to do but your nails, I thought this would be more…practical.’
‘They’re industrial diamonds?’ His head came up sharply and her hand flew to her mouth. ‘No—sorry. Please forget I said that. It’s nerves.’
‘Nerves?’ He looked astonished. ‘I don’t believe it. I’ve never seen anyone looking less flustered.’
‘That’s because I’m numb with terror.’ Then, realising that it probably wasn’t the most tactful thing she could have said, she rushed on. ‘I was sure I’d make a total hash of it. Get my name wrong. Get your name wrong.’ She was babbling. Big breath. Look at the ring. Say something sensible. Except how could she be cool and sensible when he’d just given her the most perfect, most exquisite ring? That was it. Thank him
for the ring.
‘The ring is beautiful, Mark. Absolutely, incredibly, wonderfully…practical.’ She blinked back a tear. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
Like it? If he’d read her mind he couldn’t have chosen anything she’d like more, but she mustn’t cry. It would embarrass him terribly.
If she concentrated really hard on the hideous mess it would make of all Laine’s careful make-up, she’d get through it.
‘I love it.’ The nearest she could come to saying I love you. Oh, hell! Think of something else. Anything else. ‘But I have a confession to make.’ He waited for her to go on. ‘I lied about the Sultan.’
‘You mean he doesn’t phone you day and night?’ Mark didn’t sound totally surprised.
‘Actually he was deposed in 1964.’
‘Well, I’m glad you told me,’ he said, then added solemnly, ‘I was afraid I’d have to let you down gently, warn you that someone was pulling your leg.’ Only the small creases at the corners of his eyes suggested that, while somewhat under-used in recent years, Mark’s GSOH was still in good working order. ‘Shall we move, before Laine and Greg think we’ve ducked out of buying them lunch?’
Patsy had let her romantic nature run away with her and rented a limousine for the day, so there was plenty of room for the five of them. As Mark was distracted by Shuli’s insistence on climbing onto his lap, Laine raised a querying eyebrow.
Jane just wiggled her fingers in reply and waited for Laine’s jaw to drop. Her friend obliged and clearly couldn’t wait to get her alone in the powder room at the Waterside in order to demand a full account of what had just happened.
She had to wait. They walked into the intimate little reception bar of the restaurant to be greeted by a loud cheer. Mark’s partners and all their staff were there before them, presents piled high, champagne standing by, eager to wish them every happiness.
‘I should have guessed,’ Jane murmured to Laine as all the girls surged round her to look at the ring, all the men to kiss the bride. ‘I knew Patsy couldn’t have done all this without someone authorising it.’
