Just a Family Affair (48 page)

‘We’ve got four hours,’ said Lucy, looking at the kitchen clock. ‘I’ll do sausage sandwiches at midday, then everyone can go and get themselves ready.’

‘We’ll never do it!’ wailed Georgina.

‘Yes, we will,’ replied Lucy firmly, brandishing her secateurs. ‘And I’d advise you all to get moving before Sandra arrives. Or God knows what she’ll have you doing.’

No one needed telling twice. The kitchen emptied rapidly, leaving Lucy alone with Sophie. Together they laid all the flowers out on the kitchen table, ready to arrange.

‘Are you OK, Mum?’ Sophie asked.

Lucy hesitated. She had felt much, much happier since Ned and Sophie had arrived home on Tuesday night, followed by Georgina on Wednesday. She and Mickey had sat them all down and told them about Kay and Flora. They had been shocked, of course. Georgina had been very indignant, and had spoken about Kay in very disparaging terms. But it was the more sensitive Sophie who had waited until afterwards to come and see Lucy, and make sure that she was all right. She was obviously still concerned.

‘Darling, I’m fine,’ she reassured her daughter. ‘There’s nothing I can do about what happened, so we just have to get on with it.’ She started snipping the stalks of a sheaf of white tulips. ‘And don’t worry. We’re not going to turf you or Georgina out of your rooms. This is still your home.’

Sophie busied herself with a bundle of freesias. This just wasn’t the time to tell Lucy that she and Ned were thinking of emigrating. And anyway, now she was home she wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. Australia was paradise, but Honeycote was home, and it always would be.

 

Mandy had decided to get ready for the wedding at Keeper’s Cottage. It didn’t seem right to get dressed in the home she shared with Patrick. Besides, the twins were on hand as her stylists, hairdressers and make-up artists. And she wanted to be near her father.

Keith had brought her a cup of tea this morning, and sat on the end of her bed. Even though she’d lived with Patrick all this time, she felt very aware that today she was going from her father’s care into her husband’s, and for a few moments it made her feel very small, and a bit sad. She’d had a little weep on his shoulder, and he’d patted her on the back.

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘There’s absolutely nothing to cry about. I promise you that. Today is going to be a very beautiful day.’

Mandy sniffed. ‘What’s the weather like?’

He drew back the curtain. ‘Hazy at the moment. But it’s going to be hot, once those clouds have burnt off.’

She managed a smile as Sasha banged on the door and barged in.

‘You better get your hair washed,’ she ordered, ‘or there’ll never be time to dry it properly. And don’t forget to moisturize or your tan won’t take.’

Kitty appeared behind her. ‘Your mum’s just phoned,’ she announced. ‘She’s bringing over Danish pastries from the deli in Eldenbury. She says she knows you won’t eat otherwise.’

Keith knew when he had been outnumbered.

‘I am, as they say, out of here,’ he chuckled. ‘Shout if you need me for anything. Not that I can imagine I’d be of any use whatsoever.’

He shut the door carefully behind him, not wanting to be party to any of the mysterious female preparations that were, as far as he was concerned, akin to witchcraft.

He’d been allowed out of hospital on Monday afternoon. Sandra had sent a car for him, and had been profusely apologetic at not coming to collect him herself, but she had a crucial meeting to do with the wedding. He was rather relieved, because it meant he had an hour or so to gather his thoughts at home before Ginny got back with the girls.

It had been an agonizing wait before he had been able to get her on her own. The twins had babbled all the way through supper, telling him all the things he wanted to hear and some of the things he didn’t.

‘And oh my God . . . Sandra’s pool-boy housekeeper driver type person Alejandro . . . he was soooo fit. Wasn’t he, Mum? We wanted to bring him back home. He could make a fortune around here keeping all those frustrated rich housewives happy. In fact, Mum - that could be our new marketing ploy. Hunky Butlers. What do you think?’

‘Very good,’ murmured Ginny, clearing away the plates.

Keith thought she seemed tired, but it had probably been exhausting being the only responsible adult. Eventually, Kitty and Sasha had gone upstairs, and he had sat her down in the drawing room and told her the truth.

Now, Keith stepped into the bedroom he had shared with Ginny for the past three years. He thought he could do with a lie down. He still felt tired after the operation - it hit him every now and again. And if he didn’t rest it was going to be a long time before he got the chance. Well into the small hours, he imagined. He’d just have five minutes, he told himself as he lay down on top of the bed. If you didn’t actually get under the duvet then it didn’t count.

He awoke with a start to find Ginny looking down at him. Keith thought he had never seen her look so beautiful, her eyes shining blue against her Spanish tan - the redness had faded at last to a golden brown. She was dressed just in her underwear - a pale pink silk bra and French knickers. In his head, he wanted her so badly. But his body . . . it was still very early days. The consultant had said it would take time, but now the tumour had been removed, now the pressure was off, he should be back in working order. He just had to be patient.

He lifted a hand to take one of hers, and drew her towards the bed.

They lay in each other’s arms for a few moments. Then Keith cleared his throat.

‘I was wondering,’ he said, ‘how you’d feel about . . . us getting married? I know we’re not exactly love’s young dream. But I’d like to think I was going to spend the rest of my life with you. And it would be nice to make it official.’

Ginny felt her heart contract. When Keith had told her about his tumour, his cancer, his operation, it had been a double-edged sword. She had felt huge relief, that his treatment of her over the past few months had a logical explanation. She had felt regret that he had gone through the whole nightmare on his own, without anyone to confide in or to reassure him. Most of all, she felt guilty that she hadn’t had the strength of character to discover what it was that was wrong between them, but had been rather introspective and self-indulgent about it, with almost disastrous consequences. But then, perhaps if Keith had been open with her in the first place, she wouldn’t have descended into the maelstrom of self-doubt that had made her succumb to Alejandro’s advances.

As she lay there debating Keith’s proposal, she told herself that she had to bury what had happened between her and Alejandro. There was no point in bringing it out into the open. It would only cause Keith distress; distress that he certainly didn’t need while he was trying to recuperate. And why should she let it stop her and Keith finding happiness together? It had been a moment of weakness brought about by a powerful combination of her insecurity, his irresistibility, and the after-effects of the hot sun. She needn’t say anything to anyone. Ever.

And it wasn’t as if she and Alejandro would ever have come to anything. She had made it quite clear to him that it was a one-off, and didn’t flatter herself that he had been anything other than relieved. At the airport, he had grabbed her by the magazine rack and given her a rather passionate kiss goodbye that had made her quite giddy, but there was never any hint that it had been anything other than a one night stand.

So she needn’t say a word.

‘I think it’s a lovely idea,’ she said dreamily. ‘But we mustn’t say anything today. Today belongs to Mandy and Patrick.’

‘It does,’ agreed Keith, but he felt filled with a secret delight that he knew would be with him all day long, as he fell to sleep, and when he woke the next morning. A delight that was the perfect antidote to the dread he had been burdened with for so many weeks.

Recovery was just around the corner.

 

Lucy looked at her dress hanging from the knob of the wardrobe and smiled.

It was perfect. Pale grey silk chiffon with pink polka dots. Sleeveless, with a bow tied under the bodice, and soft pleats falling to the knee. She had grey suede slingbacks, and a huge pink floppy hat to wear with it.

Next to it hung Mickey’s morning suit. For once in her life she worried that she might be accused of being naff, for she had found him a grey tie with pink dots that matched her dress almost exactly. But somehow she felt the urge to demonstrate that they belonged together.

She blew on her nails to dry off the pale pink varnish. Along the corridor she could hear Sophie and Georgina arguing over the hair straighteners, and the thud of music, and she smiled. Outside the gravel crunched as a van arrived. Lucy peeped out of the window and saw Suzanna and Barney Blake arrive with the food. She gave a wave, but knew they would get on with the task in hand, unloading everything into the fridges in the kitchen and the stable yard.

Sandra yodelled up the stairs to her. ‘I’m off now! See you at the church!’

Lucy still had no idea what Sandra had planned for the evening. She’d seen two big lorries drive down to the bottom paddock the night before, but it was screened by a small copse which prevented anyone from seeing what was going on, and so it remained a mystery. At seven o’clock that evening, the guests were going to be allowed down through the trees to discover what delights awaited.

Mickey came into the bedroom with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. ‘Shall we have a quiet toast?’

Lucy nodded in agreement. She thought a glass of champagne was just what she needed - a few bubbles in her veins to give her a lift, for it had been a hard morning’s work. She stood up and took the glass off Mickey gingerly in case her nails were still wet.

‘To us,’ he proclaimed. ‘I’m so proud of you, you know. I don’t deserve you. But I bloody love you.’

She chinked her glass against his gently. ‘I love you too,’ she said. ‘And I’m proud of us. You and me and Patrick. And the girls.’ She swallowed. ‘Nothing is ever going to get in the way of us.’

As they drank to each other, she wondered how many more weddings there would be at Honeycote House in their lifetime.

 

Kay surveyed herself critically in the mirror.

She had to be very, very careful today. This was her first excursion into the public eye. Was the dress too much of a statement? It was a pale gold silk shift dress with a single strap going over one shoulder. It wasn’t tarty, because it wasn’t tight, or short, falling just below the knee. But it was very eye-catching, and obviously very expensive. She felt determined to wear it. She’d never worn it before, as she’d bought it just before Lawrence died and hadn’t yet had a suitable occasion. And it was so very definitely, mouthwateringly her. For the first time in months, Kay felt like her old self again. She’d become so tired of her recent persona, the Kay who was in mourning, who was at other people’s mercy, whose personality and spirit had seemed to vanish into the ether along with her husband’s soul. But this dress restored her former spirit. She managed a flirtatious grin in the mirror, and almost laughed out loud.

She bloody well would wear it. OK, so she’d have to tone it down. She resisted the killer heels the dress cried out for, and went for mid-height court shoes. She put on discreet jewellery instead of the bling her gut told her to wear. And instead of big hair, dramatic eyes and red lipstick, she did the natural look, with her hair just softly tousled. She’d let the dress speak for itself. And just in case anyone thought it was too much for church, she slung the matching fringed silk shawl around her shoulders.

It was stunning. But no one could actually accuse her of attempting to take centre stage, she was certain. She picked up her bag and her car keys, ready to go. She was incredibly nervous, but at the same time excited. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Anyone who wanted to look down on her wouldn’t be worth knowing. But there was still the fear of some whispered disparaging remark, an accusing finger, a titter. She was going to have to be bloody strong. Which was why she needed her armour. Kay wouldn’t have felt strong in a demure linen suit. But in her fabulous fuck-off frock, she was ready to do battle.

She held out her hand to Flora, who was in a yellow gingham dress, her curls captured in a French plait tied with a matching ribbon. Flora would be OK. Poppy from the Honeycote Arms was going to be at the wedding, because her mother was doing the food. And then there were the cousins. Proper cousins. Kay felt a little glow of warmth at the thought. They were going to belong. She would make sure of it.

 

Patrick did up the buttons on his jacket, leaving the bottom one undone. He thanked God that he was a traditionalist and was wearing simple morning dress. His only nod to individuality was his grandfather’s waistcoat, in blood-red silk embroidered with running foxes. He adjusted his tie, ran his hands through his dark hair so it was slightly dishevelled, and gave himself a curt nod of approval in the mirror. He looked at his watch. It was still well over an hour before he was due at the church.

He’d told Ned he would meet him there. Much as he loved his friend, Ned’s sense of fun would have been too much to cope with. Patrick had visions of him turning up in his morning suit, wearing dark glasses like something out of the Blues Brothers, making tequila slammers and playing Huey Lewis and the News at full volume. Patrick wanted to prepare himself calmly. If a man ever deserved peace and quiet it was on the morning of his wedding.

But now he was ready, the house felt incredibly still. Too still. He couldn’t sit here until it was time, doing nothing. He’d go mad. He picked up his car keys decisively. He’d slip into the Horse and Groom for one nerve-steadying Bloody Mary and get Mayday’s seal of approval on his appearance. Patrick locked the door carefully behind him, realizing with a smile that the next time he walked over the threshold, he would be with his bride.