by Liz Fielding
‘This is such fabulous news. Hang on… Posy wasn’t fantasising about a wedding, was she?’
‘No, but we’re getting married here, Immi. Quietly. Just a quick stand-up-in-front-of-the-mayor on Sunday. We don’t want to wait and I’m not going to get in the way of your big day. We’ll have a party later.’
‘Excuse me, twin, but if you think you’re getting married without me there you can think again. Is Cleve there? Let me talk to him.’
She turned to Cleve. ‘I’m afraid she wants to talk to you.’
‘I imagine I’ll survive.’ He took the phone, listened, laughed at something Immi said and then, after several minutes, during which he didn’t say more than ‘yes’ and ‘I’ve got that’, he handed back the phone.
‘Immi?’
‘I’ve told Cleve that you can get married on the island but only if we’re all there. We’re a bit scattered so it’s going to take a few days to get organised but you are going to have a proper wedding. Not this Sunday—I need more time. Cleve is going to change it to the following weekend but it will be worth waiting for. In the meantime just lie back and enjoy the honeymoon.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to have those after the wedding?’
‘Andie, I hate to be the one to state the obvious but you’ve already jumped that hurdle. You’ve waited a long time for this, love. Don’t waste another moment.’
‘Is that an order?’
‘If you need an order…’ She didn’t bother to complete the sentence. ‘And don’t fret about the details. That’s my job as your chief bridesmaid. I’ll get on the ’net and start things rolling.’
‘Immi, we don’t want a fuss.’
‘Tough. It’s not every day a girl’s dream comes true and when it does it calls for a celebration.’
Aware that Cleve was watching her she managed to hang onto the smile. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say nothing. No, wait, you can tell Mrs Stark that I love her. I’ll see you on our video chat tomorrow.’
She hung up. Looked at Cleve. ‘What did she say?’
‘That I’m not to marry you until everyone is here.’
‘She said a lot more than that.’
‘That sums it up.’
She doubted it but she handed him the phone. ‘You’d better phone your parents before they hear the news from someone else. I’ll go and give Gloria a hug and persuade her to come and have a glass of champagne with us.’
*
Breaking the news to her parents was an emotional experience but Cleve was at her back and if her father was quiet, her mother said all the right things and her sisters made enough noise to attract the amused attention of people sitting at other tables in the café.
They all promised to be at the wedding, even Posy. She found it difficult to get away from the Royal Ballet during the season but having the ceremony on a Sunday meant she would only miss one performance.
Cleve said he’d fly over to pick them up, but her father stepped in and said if he texted him the details of the flying club he’d get them all to L’Isola dei Fiori for the wedding.
They passed on Gloria’s offer of a comfortable room for her parents and grandmother, which was gratefully accepted. Cleve had already booked his parents into a hotel in San Rocco and he was going to join them there for the night before the wedding.
‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Cleve asked as they walked back to the car.
‘Dad was quiet.’
‘I’ll talk to him.’
‘Oh?’ She’d love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. ‘What will you say?’
‘That’s probably better left between us.’ He tucked her arm beneath his and smiled at her. ‘Happier now?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘Why are you thanking me?’
‘For putting up with my family. With the hormones. With the silly superstitions.’
‘How are you getting on with the something old, something new stuff?’
‘Well, the dress can be either old, or borrowed. Blue is the tricky one because the dress has green and yellow notes.’
‘I thought a garter was traditional.’
‘Did you?’ And just like that the day lost its lustre.
Immi thought that this was her dream come true but the reality was that Cleve had done all this before. That time there had been a glossy ceremony in one of the classiest venues in the county, a bride that any man would have lusted after, but even with everything as perfect as a father’s money could make it the marriage hadn’t lasted.
This time he’d been guilt-tripped into marriage because of a one-night-stand baby. The wedding would be a handmade affair in an overgrown garden with a handful of guests and instead of an expensive honeymoon in the Maldives, he would be back at his desk the next day.
‘Miranda? Are you okay? Do you want to sit down?’
‘I can make it to the car,’ she said, jacking the smile back into place.
‘You’re sure?’
She nodded, but the only thing she was sure about was regret that they hadn’t gone to the municipio in San Rocco when they’d picked up the declarations and the rings and had the mayor say the words over them there and then.
No fancy dress, no photographs, just a couple of witnesses called in from an office. No family turning what was a marriage of convenience into a celebration.
*
The roof was fixed. Alberto’s son, Toni, arrived to cut the grass, remove the weeds from the terrace and cut back some of the shrubs so that the calla lilies had a chance to shine. He’d brought his wife with him and she helped prepare the bedrooms for Andie’s sisters, and did what she could with the painted drawing room and the conservatory.
And then, on Thursday, Immi arrived two days ahead of everyone else. Cleve, who had clearly known, had already packed his bag.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to leave you two to do whatever women do before a big event. Mostly have fun, I hope.’
‘But—’
‘In the meantime I’m going to pick up my family and yours.’
‘I thought Dad was going to organise that.’
‘He asked Immi to make the arrangements. She organised me.’ He turned to Immi. ‘Look after her.’
‘I will. We won’t make toffee or chips.’ She used a finger to cross her heart.
‘What?’
‘It’s what Dad always used to say when he and Mum went out leaving Portia in charge. No making toffee or chips…’ She laughed. ‘Maybe we should add a warning about leaving kettles to boil dry on the stove.’
Andie followed him out to the porch. ‘How are you getting to the airfield?’
‘Immi asked the taxi to wait.’ He put down his bag, took her in his arms. ‘There are one or two things I have to do. I’ll see you on Sunday.’
‘But you’ll be back on Saturday.’
‘I think you’ll find that Immi has organised something special for Saturday.’
‘A hen party?’ She buried her face in his chest. ‘Please tell me that you’re not going on a stag do with my dad.’
‘Your dad, my dad, Matt…’ He tucked his hand beneath her chin. ‘If we end up in jail will you bail us out?’
‘I’ll send Immi,’ she warned. ‘And you will be sorry.’
He laughed, kissed her. Lingered… ‘I have to go or I’ll miss my slot.’
‘Go!’ she said, then as he headed for the gate, ‘Take care!’
She’d seen him take off hundreds of times but suddenly it was personal. ‘Take care…’ she whispered as she heard the car pull away.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IMMI HAD A LIST. The first item on it was ‘The Dress’.
‘What are you going to wear?’
Andie showed her the kimono. Immi sighed, shook her head. ‘What on earth were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking simple, elegant.’
‘If you were ten centimetres taller and model-girl thin, maybe. Yo
u are lovely, darling, but you are not Sofia. This is not a dress for a woman with any kind of a bust.’ She opened the trunk and began to lift out dresses. ‘Oh! Do you remember this?’ She held up a pleated dress in green ombre-dye chiffon. She held it against herself. ‘I swanned around in this one imagining I looked like Sophia Loren.’
‘Flat chest, mousy brown hair? I don’t think so!’ They burst out laughing, hugged one another, then turned back to the chest, remembering lovely days, the parties, shedding a tear for Sofia who, older, wiser, they knew must have been lonely in her pink villa by the sea. Who had died far too young.
‘She had a dress that would be perfect,’ Immi said. ‘It was very delicate and must have meant something to Sofia because she wouldn’t let Portia wear it.’
‘What did it look like?’
She shook her head. ‘Wait until you see it. In the meantime,’ she said, holding up a jewel-bright gown, ‘this is what I’ll be wearing.’ She looked around. ‘Sofia had fabulous costume jewellery to go with these clothes. She had an old safe under the stairs where she kept it.’
Andie opened the box beneath her mirror and held up the key. ‘If you are prepared to brave the spiders I think this might be the key.’
‘Oh, boy. This is going to be so much fun,’ she said. ‘Of course, I will need shoes. And underwear. Shopping tomorrow?’
‘Is it compulsory?’
‘Absolutely, but today we’ll lie back and soak up the sun.’
‘Shouldn’t we be organising food? Doing something practical?’
‘It’s all taken care of.’
‘How?’
‘You might be cut off up here but the rest of the island is hooked up to the phone system and the World Wide Web. Dad gave me carte blanche with his credit card along with a few pointed comments about how thoughtful daughters ran away to get married.’
‘He didn’t mean it. He’ll burst with pride when he walks you down the aisle.’
‘I know. Come on, let’s go down to the beach.’
They swam, lazed in the hot pool, went down to the village for supper and sat well into the night reminiscing about their holidays at the villa.
The next morning Portia flew in from the States and hugged her half to death. ‘You finally hooked the bad boy?’ She shook her head, grinning from ear to ear as she exclaimed over the ring. ‘You would never settle for second best.’ Then she turned to Immi. ‘Have you fixed everything for tomorrow?’
Andie looked from one to the other. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘We decided that instead of a boring wedding present we’re going to take everyone to a spa for a pampering day.’
‘Oh…’
Portia grinned. ‘It’s not as if you’ll need a toaster. You’ve already got two of everything. Have you decided where you’ll live?’
She shook her head but Cleve’s flat was bigger. And filled with stuff chosen, used by Rachel…
‘It hardly matters,’ Immi cut in, pointedly. ‘You’ll be looking for a house, I imagine. Children need a garden.’
‘It’s all happened so fast,’ Andie said, helplessly.
Immi touched her arm, a gesture of reassurance, then swiftly reverted to the wedding details. ‘We’ve decided that we’re all going to wear Sofia’s dresses,’ she said, turning to Portia. ‘A kind of tribute to her. You need to choose one.’
‘Vintage?’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Fabulous. What are you wearing, Andie?’
‘We haven’t decided,’ Immi said. ‘I’ve been looking for that dress Sofia wouldn’t let you wear. Do you remember? You sulked for hours.’
‘I never sulked!’ Portia rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, I sulked but it was a dream dress.’
‘Exactly.’
She sighed. ‘You’re right. It would be perfect.’
‘It’s not in any of the trunks we’ve found.’
‘When she rescued it from me she took it into her bedroom.’ Portia led the way, then turned at the doorway. ‘You’re not sleeping in here?’ she asked, surprised.
Andie shook her head. ‘It didn’t feel right.’ She saw Immi and Portia exchange a glance and quickly said, ‘All I found in Sofia’s wardrobe were day clothes.’
Portia crossed to a chest of drawers, sighing as she opened each one, lifting out a scarf, something in oyster satin that slithered through her fingers, lace… ‘Posy is going to make a fortune selling this stuff.’ Then, as she opened the bottom drawer she reached in and lifted out something wrapped in tissue paper.
‘Is that it?’ Immi asked.
Portia placed it on the bed, unfolded the tissue, removed satin lavender bags and then shook out an ethereal shimmer of a dress. The simplest long-sleeved shift created from sheer lace into which flowers had been worked and from which tiny beads glistened. At first sight it looked transparent, but beneath the lace there was a nude slip.
For a moment none of them said anything then Andie gathered herself. It was too much… Too bridal. Exactly what she’d wanted to avoid.
‘It will be too long,’ she objected. ‘There’s no way to shorten it.’
‘Let’s see.’
They had her out of her T-shirt and trousers before she could argue and dropped the dress over her head.
It slithered over her body and crumpled gently at her feet but before she could say a word Portia and Immi spoke as one.
‘High heels!’
They did a high five, then burst out laughing. ‘Come on. Let’s go shopping.’
*
Next morning they picked up Gloria and all four of them made their way to a hotel overlooking San Rocco that had a luxurious spa. By the time they’d ordered coffee and cake her mother, grandmother, Laura Finch and Posy had arrived.
There were a few tears, exclamations over the ring, an unexpectedly heartfelt hug from Laura, a whispered thank-you and then it was time for facials, massages. They had lunch. The afternoon was all about hair and nails, the bliss of pedicures followed by champagne in the hot tub for everyone but Andie and then afternoon tea.
But all the time, amidst the laughter, there was a little nagging voice that kept repeating Portia’s words.
‘You would never settle for second best…’
‘Andie…’
Portia caught her as they were leaving.
Her sister had been full of life all day but just once or twice she’d caught a look, as if Portia were somewhere else.
‘Are you okay, Portia?’
‘Fine,’ she said, too quickly. ‘A bit stressed. Work… I was wondering, are you and Cleve staying on here after tomorrow?’
She shook her head. ‘We’ve been here too long already. We’ll be home on Monday.’
‘Oh…’ She looked surprised, then grinned. ‘Honeymoon before the event…’ Then, ‘If I’m not going to be playing gooseberry I thought I’d ask Posy if I can stay on for a while. Decompress.’
*
By the time they arrived home Andie was desperate to be alone and, making the excuse that she was tired, went up to her room.
For a while there were the familiar sounds of her sisters squabbling over the bathroom, the murmurs and giggles as they picked over the day and then gradually everything grew quiet with only the now familiar sounds of the old house as it settled and cooled.
Silent but for a tap on her window.
The first time she heard it Andie thought it was a moth, tricked by the light of the moon shining on the glass. The second time it was accompanied by her name whispered softly.
‘Miranda…’
Only one person ever called her that.
‘Cleve?’ She scrambled out of bed and found him leaning on the windowsill. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Standing on a ladder, talking to the woman I’m going to marry tomorrow. It’s damned uncomfortable. Can I come in?’
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘A glass or two of wine. A brandy…’
‘How did you get here?’ she demanded. ‘You’d better not be driving.’
> ‘It’s a lovely night for a walk and I have something important to tell you.’
‘Idiot. Get down now, before you fall. No, wait. I’ll come and hold the ladder.’
She pulled on a wrap, held her breath on the landing half expecting one of her sisters to appear, then crept downstairs. Cleve was waiting on the doorstep but before she could berate him he’d caught her around the waist and was kissing her senseless.
He tasted of old brandy, delicious, warming, melting all her doubts. ‘You do know that if you’re here after midnight you’ll turn into a pumpkin?’ she said, when he finally eased away so that they could breathe.
‘I won’t stay,’ he promised, ‘but on the subject of superstitions, I wanted you to know that I’ve sorted out the troublesome “something blue”. You’ll have it tomorrow.’
‘You walked all the way from San Rocco to tell me that?’
‘There isn’t a phone but I cannot tell a lie. I had a lift in Matt’s taxi. I only walked up from the village.’
She shook her head. ‘Come on, I’ll drive you back.’
‘The walk will clear my head.’
‘If you don’t put your foot in a rabbit hole and break your ankle,’ she said, pulling away in the direction of the garage.
‘Wait. It wasn’t just the something blue,’ he said. ‘There’s something else.’ Now he was serious and her heart, beating much too fast, seemed to stop. ‘While I was home I realised that everywhere I turned in my flat there was a reminder of Rachel—the colour of the walls, the sofa, pretty much everything in the kitchen. I want us to have a fresh start so I’ve put it on the market, fully furnished.’
His flat was so much bigger than hers, it was the obvious place to live but she’d been dreading it. She leaned against his chest and let him hold her while she gathered the breath to whisper, ‘Thank you.’
‘You might not be so happy when we’re squeezed into your little flat while we look for a house.’
‘We’ll manage.’
‘It’s nearly twelve. I’d better go.’ He kissed her again. ‘Until tomorrow.’
*
The next morning Immi produced boxes of tiny white solar lights and yards of heart-shaped bunting that she’d brought with her. While she and Posy threaded them through the garden, along the wall and over the terrace, Portia disappeared on some mysterious errand of her own.
