The hairdresser arrived in a floor-length pleather jacket and made a bee-line for Ondine. [199] She primped and teased and pulled Ondine’s dark wavy hair into intricate curls and twists, slotting blue satin flowers here and there. She wrapped a tablecloth around Ondine’s jacket and started on the makeup, dusting her face with powder, then moved at lightning speed to do her eyes, and (ouch!) pluck a few stray brow hairs away.
Ondine checked herself in the mirror. Wow! The blended eye shadow really brought out the colour in her dark eyes, the mascara looked sweet without going over the top. The first hints of an ache tugged at her forehead from her hair being tied up too tightly. But the tightening effect on her face was incredible. When she smiled, the corners of her eyes barely made a crease. She looked so much older, almost regal. She couldn’t wait to show herself off to Hamish.
The reaction she wanted came soon enough, as she took to the stairs and found him standing at the bottom. His eyes locked with hers and her tummy flipped over. A look of adoration crossed his face as he put his hand over his heart. If she didn’t hang on to the banister, she’d miss a step and land with a splat. Hamish said nothing, imperceptibly shaking his head, mouth falling open before slowly transforming into a broad smile.
“Well?” She stood on the last step so they could be at eye level. “What do you think?” She liked this newfound feeling of power over him. He looked speechless, which sent flurries of wonder through her body.
“I . . .” Hamish started, but couldn’t finish.
Henrik walked past. “Ondi, you don’t look half bad when you make the effort!”
If she could, she would have rolled her eyes, but her forehead was stretched too tightly to move a muscle. Instead she looked to Hamish to see what he’d say.
With a scratchy voice he said, “I hope you have more lipstick.”
“Pardon?”
“ ’Cos I’ll be kissing it awff all day.” He closed the distance between them and kissed her with such tenderness she nearly came undone. Warmth spread through her and lovely fuzzies tickled her skin. It may have been Margi’s big day, but Ondine felt like the beaming bride. For the first time since she’d found out she wouldn’t be a bridesmaid – Thomas’s sister and Cybelle had those roles – Ondine felt grateful for her reduced status. It meant spending the day working with Hamish. Sneaking in more kisses when everyone’s attention was focused on the bride and groom. Truly, what more could a girl want?
“I hope that’s not an example of your work ethic?”
Reluctantly, Ondine pulled away from Hamish to find Thomas smiling at them. He looked dashing in his groom suit, complete with a blue satin flower in his lapel. Not as handsome as Hamish, though.
“Is my bride ready?” Thomas asked. “The photographer wants her.”
“Just upstairs getting her hair done with Cybelle. She’ll be down in a minute,” Ondine said.
“Good. If we can all gather in the front bar, he’s setting up some lights to take group shots.”
Suddenly, crashing metal rang through the air. Car horns blared. Tyres skidded on the cold road outside. Crash! Crash! Screech-Bang!
“What the?” Ondine grabbed Hamish’s hand and ran to the window to see a seven-car pile-up at the intersection.
“The world’s gone whirlypits,” Hamish said. “Would ye look at the lights, they’re all on green.”
“Oh dear. Should we go out and help?” Ondine asked as she surveyed the damage in the street. Crumpled cars, steam escaping from radiators, broken glass all over the road.
“Aye, let’s call for an ambulance first.”
“Already on it,” Henrik called out from the kitchen. “You two grab aprons and head on out.”
Aprons? Good idea; it would protect their wedding clothes.
As Ondine and Hamish stepped outside, they found loads of people standing around shouting at each other. They had various cuts and bruises on their faces, from biffing them against the steering wheel or the inside of the car doors. [200]
“We’ve called for an ambulance,” she said to nobody in particular.
“And I’ve called for my lawyer,” one of the drivers said, his face red from anger rather than injury.
“And I told you the light was green! You were the one going through a red light!” That came from an hysterical teenager on the other side.
“I have never driven through a red light in my life!” another woman said.
“We might stay back here a bit, lass.” Hamish took her arm to keep Ondine on the footpath. “They’re fair affronted.”
Nobody looked too badly hurt, so Ondine tried not to feel too relieved when Ma called out they were needed inside.
Inside, Ma said, “Best we don’t tell Margi about the crash, she’ll stress about getting to the elm tree on time.”
The radio blared out a traffic report. There were pile-ups all over Venzelemma! Desperate to hear more, Ondine turned up the volume. Worries twisted inside her as she thought about the strange coincidence of so many weird things going on.
Henrik switched the radio off just as Margi walked through.
“What?” Margi asked.
“Nothing!” they all said at once.
Nothing was going to ruin Margi’s big day.
Chapter Six
The photographs at the pub took up the next hour and a half.
The bride and groom exchanging gifts. Click.
The respective parents (Ondine thought Thomas’s mother’s hair looked a bit too foomphy but that’s what mothers tended to do). Click.
The bridal party. Click.
Just the bridesmaids pretending to straighten Margi’s skirts. Click.
Now the groomsmen handing Thomas his tie (he took it off so he could pretend to put it on again). Click.
Ondine and Hamish stayed back, nibbling their cold boiled eggs – without the shell this time – and sitting together patiently. Every now and then they were needed for the ‘everyone’ photo, but most of the time they could take it easy and enjoy one another’s company. Ondine nestled against Hamish, reading the book he’d given her for her name day about Grand Duchess Elmaree.
Elmaree
Born under a tree.
Sits on the throne
Where a boy should be.
She was up to the third chapter and it was getting really good. “Did you know she was born at the bottom of an elm tree straight after Grand Duke Savo and Flora Venzelemma said their wedding vows? Oh wow, I’ve just realised who our city was named after. That’s so sweet!”
Hamish gave her a smile and hugged her again. “An elm, huh? Is that why Bruglers get married at the tree?”
“Must be. I wonder if it’s the same elm?”
They snacked on triangle sandwiches that didn’t drip (roast beef or cheese with no condiments) then the horse-drawn carriages arrived to take them to the botanical gardens. Henrik had been monitoring the news and thankfully the traffic snarls had cleared.
Ondine travelled with Hamish, Henrik and Cybelle in the first carriage, which was excellent because Henrik carried a vast picnic basket full of nibbly food and flasks of hot chocolate. They put the hot rocks at their feet and had extra blankets over their knees.
AS MUCH AS ONDINE ENJOYED sneaking kisses with Hamish in the gardens, they did have a job to do, so she peeled herself away from him and welcomed guests as they arrived.
“Hamish look, Mrs. Howser plus one is on the list.”
“So she is.”
“How did she score an invite?” Ondine asked. It wouldn’t be Auntie Col inviting her; they had been friends many decades ago, but lately they were barely on speaking terms.
A thoughtful look filled Hamish’s face. “It’s only fair she should come. If ye invite someone to an engagement party, ye should invite them to the wedding as weil.”
True, Mrs. Howser had been at Margi and Thomas’s engagement party back in summer, but only because
her parents had made a contra deal with the witchy Psychic Summercamp principal to make up for their outstanding fees.
Seeing the old witch’s name on the list made Ondine uneasy, and she had a hard time explaining exactly why. “I didn’t think she was that interested in my sister,” she said. “She didn’t stay long at the party.”
“Aye, she disappeared pretty fast that night. Mebbe she won’t turn up today?”
“Ah Hamish, you don’t understand. Weddings are old-lady-magnets. She’ll be here. I wonder who she’ll bring as her plus one?”
They greeted more guests and took them to their seats. Soon enough, Mrs. Howser did appear, with an imperious look on her grey, wrinkled face. She was dressed in formal travelling witch attire: A heavy brown cloak, sturdy boots and multi-pocketed skirt. On her head she wore not the clichéd pointed black hat but a far more sensible deep brown fur-lined hat with earflaps.
And her plus one was –
“Melody! How are you?” Ondine beamed as she embraced her friend, who wore clothing that matched Mrs Howser.
But oh dear, there was so much less of Melody than Ondine remembered from their days together at Psychic Summercamp. Mrs. Howser must not be feeding her. Guilt pricked her conscience at their lack of contact in nearly six months. They last time they’d seen each other was just after Duke Pavla visited the pub and offered Hamish and Old Col a job.
“I’m good,” Melody said, her cheeks pink and bright in the winter chill. Then she added in a whisper, “my stars, Ondi, Hamish is even more gorgeous now.”
“Oh . . . you!” Heated embarrassment rushed up her neck as she stepped out of the embrace. “It’s good to see you. Come on, I’ll show you to your seats.”
“So . . .” Melody leaned in closer to Ondine’s ears. “What’s going on with you two? Are you planning a walk to the elm yourselves?”
Behind them, she heard Hamish chatting to Mrs. Howser. Ondine figured if she could hear Hamish, he must be able to hear them. She chose her words with care. “I’m the happiest girl in the world, Melody, but this is Margi’s special day and that’s all I can think about. Look, here’s your seat.”
When Ondine turned around, she got the strangest look from Mrs. Howser. Almost as if she were trying to smile and trying not to smile all at the same time. Ondine’s belly did a strange twisty thing. Thankfully, none of this interior concern could express itself on her face, because of all the pins in her hair pulling her skin so tightly.
Just as Cybelle predicted, the fog dissolved to reveal a sunny day. Not exactly balmy, but the wind held off. Clouds of steam rose as their guests sipped hot drinks to stay warm.
The gardens looked beautiful, with garlands of blue satin flowers on the chairs. The wedding elm took centre stage, its huge bare branches fanning out above them. It was such a shame it couldn’t have been a summer wedding, when the tree would be covered in lush green leaves. Or even autumn, when the changing leaves would fall gently around them like confetti.
Ahhh, but if it had been an autumn wedding, Hamish and I would have missed it.
Great-Aunt Col turned up with a beaming smile and formal witchy attire, similar to Mrs Howser’s, complete with the heavy travelling cloak and boots. Altogether a sensible option for a snowy outdoor wedding. “Ondine my love, you’re glowing,” she said, giving her a kiss on each cheek. “Hamish you’re far too handsome for your own good.” She kissed him on each cheek as well.
This had to be a good sign, because Ondine couldn’t help remembering that it was her great-aunt who, in a fit of pique, had turned Hamish the handsome lad into a ferret in the first place.
“This way Auntie Col.” Ondine led her towards her seat in the front row.
“Aw nae,” Hamish said as he turned away.
“Wha –” The words died on Ondine’s lips as she saw three people in suits step out of a van. They looked exactly like the ones who had raided their restaurant the other night, and had then rounded up all the staff at Fangs.
Just as the thought, They can’t seriously raid a wedding for illegal immigrants, can they? passed from one side of Ondine’s brain to the other, the man who had become so impossibly handsome from the mere act of suiting up, dropped to the ground.
“Boak.” [201] With a grimace of pain he vanished into a pile of clothes on the snow.
The snow on the ground wasn’t nearly as cold as the ice roaring through Ondine’s veins as she looked on her hapless boyfriend who’d had to ferret-ise himself to avoid deportation.
With a soft nudge of her foot, she scooted him and his clothes under the nearest row of seats and tried to act as if nothing was going on. Inside, she wanted to cry. Would life with Hamish ever be normal?
Oh, why had he only posted the letter? They should have delivered it to Duchess Anathea personally, then they could have had an answer straight away. Mentally Ondine counted the days until she could expect a response. Two days for it to be delivered, possibly another few days before she looked at it. Then a few more days and . . . oh it was so frustrating.
The string quartet started playing. The celebrant, a woman wearing a high-collared, navy blue woollen cloak to ward off the cold, walked to the base of the elm. She had a calm but happy expression, as if she were excited for the couple about to marry, but perfectly in control of her emotions and nerves.
The three men in suits walked towards their party. Fear pumped Ondine’s pulse as they came closer. They weren’t going to stop the ceremony, were they? Mercury’s Wings, they were!
With a quick dash, Ondine intercepted them. “Can I help you?” Her panting breath made great gusts of steam as she spoke.
“We need to check the credentials of the bride and groom.”
“Oh them!” Relief crashed over Ondine. “They’re up the back, this way.”
“What’s going on?” Ma said as she and Great-Aunt Col came over.
The suited man held out his identification badge. “We need to check that the bride and groom are Brugelish nationals.”
The quartet slowed down, so Ma turned and made some hand gestures at them to keep playing. Then she turned back to face the interlopers. “Why are you targeting us?” Ma put her hands on her hips.
He said, “Far too many marriages at this time of year: people desperate to become citizens and duck the paper, that sort of thing.” [202]
“Come with me then,” Ma said to the officials, then she looked at Ondine and said, “back to your post, you have a job to do.”
“Yes Ma,” Ondine said, doing her best to look chastened in front of the suit-squad, while dancing with relief on the inside. Thomas and Margi would be fine.
Back at her post, more worries added to the party of woe in Ondine’s heart. Hamish was nowhere to be seen. His clothes lay in a pile on the snow where she’d kicked them, so she picked them up, shook them out to keep them dry, then shoved them under her faux-fur jacket. Wherever Hamish would be as Shambles, he’d at least have a real fur jacket.
She looked about for that familiar dark streak of fur. How hard could it be to find him in the snow?
“Over here, hen.”
Following his voice, she saw Shambles the ferret, poking his furry face out from under the snow-laden branch of a weeping Slaegalpine. [203]
Quick as she could, but also not too quick in case people saw her running and wondered what the fuss might be about, Ondine made her way over.
“Throw me thae clothes will ye, I’m freezen mah tights off.”
Using her body as a shield, Ondine faced the wedding crowd and made sure nobody was paying her any attention. No, they were all watching the immigration inspectors and seeing them off.
Phew, that was too close for comfort. And also, the need for Hamish to become a ferret at the slightest provocation was starting to do her head in.
She slipped Hamish’s thermal underclothes through the branches. Behind her, she heard him wincing. “Och, these pine needles are sharp.”
“Are you all right?” Ondine jammed his trouse
rs and shirt through the branches again and tried not to spill too much snow on her sleeve, otherwise she’d end up with soaking wet arms.
“Didye bring me shoes and socks?”
“Sorry, forgot. They’re right under a chair. I’ll grab them.”
Every nerve screamed to run back and get his shoes, but again that would draw people’s attention so she had to walk and act normally, retrieve his shoes and socks as if it was all part of her usher duties, and get back to the tree before Hamish’s feet snapped off in the cold.
The immigration team were over at the gazebo, where the next wedding party waited their turn for the wedding elm.
“They’ve moved on to the next group now,” Ondine said as she slipped the shoes (with the socks rolled into them) through the branches. “Talk about ruin your big day.”
In a fresh shower of snow, Hamish pushed the branches aside and made his way out. “Ouch, got a splinter,” he said.
“Let me look at it.”
“No hen, let’s get back to the weddin’.”
Back in position and with the inspectors busy with some other unfortunate bride and groom, Hamish slipped his arm around Ondine for some shared warmth as their ceremony began.
The celebrant stood front and centre, a smile fixed in place. Her voice created steam as she spoke. “Welcome everyone on this magical day to the marriage of Marguerite and Thomas.”
As is the Brugel custom, the parents walked in from the left and the right, meeting in the middle. The symbolic joining of families. They exchanged small gifts and kissed each other on the cheeks, then separated and took their seats.
Then it was time for the groomsmen and bridesmaids to do the same, exchanging gifts and kisses. The celebrant smiled again and looked out to the crowd. There was a touch of pantomime involved as she raised her hand to her forehead as if gazing into the sun. “Do we have the bride and groom?”
The Ondine Collection Page 39
