“Mummy, they’re lovely. The whole marquee looks wonderful. Stop worrying.”
“Yes, but it was rather a responsibility, organising them myself. And—”
“It was Carol’s decision,” said Eliza firmly. “She obviously just didn’t want to be bothered with them. In which case she has only herself to blame. And given her taste—or rather complete lack of it—”
“Darling!”
“Well—”
Eliza’s dislike of Juliet had spread to her parents. Geoffrey Judd she could just about cope with, but Carol … she was so, so awful. So phony and silly and eyelash-fluttering, just like her daughter. And they were both clearly dazzled by Summercourt, especially now that it was at its loveliest.
The house was looking truly glorious, with huge vases and jugs of flowers in every room. Sarah had taken a deep breath and had the drawing room floor professionally polished; the golden wood reflected the light, filled the whole house with sunshine. It had rained a few days before and she had lit fires in the drawing room and the dining room, fearing they might be needed, and the sweet, haunting scent of wood smoke was everywhere, mingling with that of the roses. Eliza had stood in the hall when she arrived, thinking that she loved the house almost as if it were a person.
And one day, Eliza supposed, it would be the setting for her wedding.
She went up to the room where her father now slept alone; her mother said his restlessness kept them both awake.
He wasn’t there, but she could hear footsteps overhead on the top floor. She went up and called him; he came out of one of the bedrooms on the long corridor, looking sheepish.
“Hallo, poppet.”
“Daddy, what are you doing up here?”
“Oh, just looking down on the garden at the marquee. It looks awfully big.”
“Daddy! Don’t fib.”
“Well … as it’s you. Don’t tell Mummy. But look.”
He led her back into the room, where, in the corner, at floorboard level, something was growing. It looked like some obscene yellowish white fungus.
“It’s dry rot. I did suspect it was there. But it’s one thing to think it, and another to actually confront it. Oh, Eliza, what are we going to do? The house will become uninhabitable in no time.”
“Has Mummy seen this?”
“No. I’ve just been chipping away at the skirting board. Silly, I know.”
He looked at her and a tear rolled slowly down his hollow cheek.
“Daddy! Darling Daddy, don’t cry. It’ll be all right, promise!”
“No, Eliza, it won’t. I just don’t see how we can carry on here.”
“What, you mean …” She could hardly get the words out. “You mean sell it? Daddy, no.”
“I—we—love this house so much, Eliza. It’s almost … Oh it’s absurd, I know—”
“As if it was a person. I know. I was thinking that very thing just now. A much-beloved, beautiful person. Part of our family, the heart of it, really. It would be impossible to say good-bye to it.”
“Darling one, I think we might have to. I’m afraid Summercourt is doomed. And maybe … well, maybe we can find someone who deserves her. Anyway, this is no time to discuss such things. She is all dressed up and ready to do her very best for us tomorrow. And she will be greatly admired and we can enjoy that. Now, none of this to Mummy. Not today. It would finish her off, I think.” He smiled. “She’s extremely anxious about everything.”
“I know. We’ll think of something, Daddy. Mummy’s wondering where you are, wants you to come down. Shall I tell her you’re still asleep?”
“No. Just give me a few minutes. Bless you, darling. Don’t say anything to anyone about all this, will you?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Promise.”
It was almost seven when Charles arrived; he looked exhausted but cheerful.
“Sorry, everyone. I got held up in the office. Lot to do before I left.”
“Oh, well, I suppose we can’t be cross with you tonight. Juliet’s rung twice.”
“I’ll ring her in a minute. It’s been a bit of a week, you know.”
“Yes, of course. Your stag night on Wednesday—how did that go?”
“It was great. Jeremy was fantastic. Really good value. He organised most of it. You’ve got a good one there, Eliza.”
“He’s not mine,” she said irritably. People kept assuming that it was only a matter of time before she and Jeremy got engaged, and … he just didn’t seem anywhere near asking her. He hadn’t actually told her he loved her.
It was as if he was feeling his way and … well, that was all right. It wasn’t a decision you could—or should—make in a hurry.
And, actually, she felt a little bit the same. If he did ask her, then obviously she wouldn’t turn him down. Nobody would.
But what was the but? It hovered very vaguely in the background, but whenever she tried to analyse it, she couldn’t even work out what it was.
“I’d better go and ring Juliet,” Charles said. “Then I’ll have a good strong drink.”
The phone rang twice during supper; both times Eliza answered it, thinking it might be Jeremy. The first time it was Juliet; she sounded very intense. “Oh, Eliza, could I just speak to Charles, quickly. I’m sorry if you’re having supper. I just feel so … so emotional. I know he can calm me down.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m sure all brides must feel pretty emotional the night before their weddings anyway.”
“Well, yes, of course. But I have always been rather inclined to go over the top. I can’t help it; it’s the way I’m made. Mummy’s the same, terribly oversensitive.”
“I’ll go and get him,” said Eliza quickly. She couldn’t be rude to Juliet tonight of all nights.
The second call was her again. “Sorry, Eliza, but could I speak to him again? Just to say good night, you know? You must think I’m awfully silly.”
“No, no, of course not,” said Eliza. She half expected Charles to be as irritated as she was, but he jumped up looking rather pleased. It must be love. No other explanation …
At quarter to ten, Charles stood up.
“Better turn in,” he said. “Believe I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
“Really?” said Sarah, smiling. “What’s that about then?”
The church looked wonderful, Sarah thought, huge urns of roses and white peonies on either side of the screen, wonderful arrangements of scabious and cow parsley on the windowsills, an inspiration of the local florist she had used, and white-ribboned bunches of sweetheart roses hung on the end of every pew. And a wonderful arch of white roses and moss over the church door to welcome people as they arrived.
She walked in with Adrian, smiling and nodding at such of the congregation as she knew—at least half, and there was no doubt about it: their half was so much better-looking and better dressed. She’d never seen so much brightly colored lace in her life as on the Judd side, including Carol’s suit, which was a pink that could only be described as hectic. And there were a lot of painfully ill-fitting and new-looking morning coats, obviously hired. Oh, dear, she did hope their friends would all understand.
Charles was sitting at the front, looking dreadfully nervous, but so handsome, and beside him dear Jeremy, calm, smiling, utterly at ease. He really did seem to adore Eliza, Sarah thought; maybe this weekend, maybe the magic of another wedding …
As she sat in the bridesmaids’ car, feeling pretty miserable really, waiting for Juliet to arrive, Eliza saw Matt. He looked nervous, on the edge of the crowd, but pretty good, she thought; but then all men did in morning dress. What really engaged her rather miserable attention was the girl with him. Who was, quite simply, stunning. Quite small, long brown blond-streaked hair done in sort of Pre-Raphaelite waves, with a great cartwheel of a hat trimmed with a ribbon the same fabric as her Biba chiffon dress. She was, without doubt, the most stylish as well as one of the prettiest in the
crowd outside the church. She was quite pale and enragingly cool-looking, with a tiny little tipped-up nose, the sort of nose Eliza had always longed for, and the most enormous grey eyes, and a very sexy mouth, and every so often she tapped Matt’s arm and reached up to whisper in his ear in that way very flirty girls did, and he would smile back at her and nod.
And here she was, dressed from neck to ankle in sickly pink frills, her face heating up to match it—with her ringlets, the twee little basket of flowers they all had to carry instead of ordinary posies and, worst of all, silver pumps. Silver! They were slightly too tight as well, and she could feel her feet swelling inside them already.
They hadn’t seen her yet, Matt and the girl, but they would, they would, and how, Eliza thought, was she going to get through the rest of the afternoon looking like she did, while that girl, that lovely girl, Matt’s coolly beautiful girlfriend, looked like she did? Oh, stop it, Eliza. What did it matter what Matt’s girlfriend thought of her? And what was it to her? Nothing, absolutely nothing.
The music was beautiful. Luckily Juliet had claimed that she had no ear for music (“I just know what I like”) and had agreed that Charles and Sarah should make the initial suggestions, “And then Mummy and I’ll make the final choice. She’s got much more of an ear than I have.”
So the music at least would not be commonplace, or even common.
It was all very … very nice really, Matt thought. He’d never been in such a pretty church in his life—well, he hadn’t been in many churches at all, come to that.
Everyone looked extremely smart, and although it was odd to see such a large gathering of people dressed identically, it was actually rather nice.
A really pretty woman came in dressed in pale lemon yellow, on the arm of a rather fragile-looking old chap; they sat down just behind Charles. Must be the parents; Matt looked at them interestedly. They looked different from how he’d expected, had an air of gentleness and courtesy about them; they were joined shortly by another couple, who were more what he’d expected, embracing them rather exuberantly, with cries of “Lovely … wonderful … marvelous … so exciting.” The man was rather stout and red-faced, and the woman was tall and looked particularly imposing, dressed in dark red silk with a sort of turban hat and rows and rows of pearls round an indisputably wrinkly neck. Every so often she would jump up from her seat and rush to embrace someone in the aisle, braying (there was no other word for it), “Binky!” or “Rozzy!” and other such names.
“Must be a relative,” hissed Gina. “God, this is fun.”
And then the music paused, and then it changed, and everyone stood up, and the bride and her father stood in the doorway of the church, the light behind them, and the choir began to sing Vivaldi’s “Gloria,” and the magic that takes over a wedding—any wedding—began to do its work.
Juliet did look really lovely. Eliza had to admit it. And Charles’s face, fixed on her as she walked down the aisle, showed his very clear pleasure and pride.
The dress was exactly what she had expected it to be, a tiered confection of a thing, all tulle and lace, with a full skirt and tight bodice, long sleeves, and a modestly swathed boat neckline. She looked, Eliza thought, exactly like a Disney princess. Her hair was drawn up in a tower of curls, her veil very long, gallantly tended to by four pageboys in blue silk suits complete with knee breeches. The eight bridesmaids wore dresses that were a simpler version of the bride’s own—four of them in pink and four in mauve, with white roses in their ringlets. Eliza—relieved at least to be in the pink party, not the mauve—smiling until her face ached, felt oddly lonely, looking at a church full of people, half of whom were strangers and to whom in some strange way Charles was defecting.
The service was charmingly predictable. Juliet’s voice was very firm as she made her vows, Charles’s less so, and Eliza’s heart lurched as he stumbled over “till death do us part,” and the smile Juliet gave Charles when the vicar pronounced them man and wife could have been better described as smug than radiant.
The bridal party had now disappeared into the vestry for the signing of the register. Eliza suddenly and shockingly felt like crying. It had really happened: her beloved brother had left her, left all of them really, for a girl who was in no way his equal—not intellectually, not emotionally, who lacked his sense of humour, his style, his charm, his ability to befriend just about anybody, and she felt lost and terribly alone.
And then two things happened: the music changed, and the choir, led by the most amazing soprano, began to sing the “Laudate Dominum,” and the sheer searing beauty of it shocked her out of her sadness and quite literally took her breath away. And she turned round and, without quite knowing how she could have found him in that crowded church, she was staring at Matt, and he in his turn was staring at her, as clearly moved, shocked even, by the moment and music as she was, and then very slowly he smiled at her, and it was not the cocky, awkward Matt, or even the sexy, self-assured one; it was someone different, someone she had not known before, or even suspected he could be, someone warm and oddly gentle; and in that moment, suspended forever against the music and with the sunshine shafting in the windows of the small flower-filled church, and without her really understanding how or why, the world seemed to shift just a little.
“What a lovely, lovely house,” said Gina.
“What?”
“Matt! I said, what a lovely house. Isn’t it?”
“Oh—yes. Yes, not bad.”
A tall, slightly languid man had appeared, grinning rather foolishly at Gina. She smiled back.
“Good service, wasn’t it?”
“Lovely. Especially the music.”
“Jolly pretty girl, isn’t she? Known her for a long time?”
“No, no, I’ve never met her.”
“Oh, I see. I thought … well, I thought you must be a friend of hers. Haven’t met either of you. Tim Dalton-Smith, at your service.”
“How do you do, Tim. I’m Gina, Gina Barker, and this is Matt Shaw. He and Charles were in the army together.”
“Oh, really! What, out in Gib? Jolly good fun that must have been. I only managed Cyprus.”
“I wasn’t in Cyprus or Gib,” said Matt. “I was just with Charles in basic training. I was in the Royal Engineers out in Germany. Just an ordinary old sapper, you know.”
“Oh. Oh, I see. And you and Charles have stayed in touch, have you?”
“Yes. You could say that.”
“Well, jolly good.” There was a silence; then Dalton-Smith smiled rather uncertainly. “And what do you do now?”
“I’m in property.”
“Oh, are you, now. Well, it’s the right field to be in. Growing quite literally. What firm are you with?”
“My own,” said Matt decisively.
Dalton-Smith was briefly silenced. Then he said, “Oh, I see. Right. Domestic?”
“No. Commercial.”
“Well … well, jolly good for you.” He was clearly nonplussed. “And you,” he said to Gina, “what do you do?”
“I’m in the fashion business.”
“Oh? A model, I presume. Sure I’ve seen you in Vogue.”
“ ’Fraid not. No, I run a boutique. In the King’s Road.”
“Oh, I say, what fun. Eliza’s in the fashion business, isn’t she? Edits some magazine or other.”
“Something like that,” said Gina.
There was a silence; then she said, “I was just saying what a lovely house this is.”
“Isn’t it? Glorious. I came here for Eliza’s dance. God, that seems a long time ago. You weren’t here, I suppose … er …” He looked at Matt awkwardly.
“No,” said Matt. “I don’t get out much. Not in polite society, anyway.”
“That was so rude,” said Gina crossly, as Dalton-Smith made an excuse and hurried off. “He was only trying to be friendly.”
“Yes, well, that’s fine. I didn’t want to be friendly back.”
“But why not?”
&nbs
p; “He was bloody patronising me. Why should I be friendly?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” said Gina, “I’m off. I might see you later.”
She stalked off; thirty seconds later she was chatting and laughing to a couple as if she’d known them all her life. Matt decided to explore. The house was locked, of course, but he looked down the avenue, as it curved gently towards the village below, and there was a sense of peace and set-apartness that was quite extraordinary.
He glanced to the other side of the house. Set just slightly to its right, below yet another lawn, was an exquisite building with a glass dome at the top; he walked down towards it, intrigued. It had huge glass-paned doors, which he tentatively tried, but which were locked, windows almost floor-to-ceiling height, and a tiled floor; there were two trees inside, growing almost the full height of the building, a fan-trained flowering shrub on one of the side walls (Matt wasn’t sure which kind), its blossoms fallen with a kind of casual extravagance on the floor around it, and several palms and other plants in enormous pots set about the room. There was a large and rather lovely white wrought-iron table in the middle of the room and a couple of matching chairs; otherwise there was no furniture and no further decoration. Except perhaps the sunlight, which filled it, an almost tangible thing; he felt if he could have opened the door he would have had to push against it, as if it was silk. He stood there, looking in and smiling and thinking it was the loveliest place he had ever seen, and thinking too of Eliza growing up with this exquisite thing as part of her everyday life, taking it for granted, careless of its beauty. What a charmed childhood she and Charles must have had, playing in these gardens, walking in the woods just beyond, beauty wherever they looked …
“Matt, hallo.” It was Eliza. His head was so full of her, he was in no way surprised to see her, had somehow been expecting her. She smiled at him; she seemed no more surprised to find him there. She was on her own. Like him.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Thanks. Just exploring a bit. Hope it’s all right.”
More Than You Know Page 15
