Summer at the Lake (46 page)

In bed last night she had listened to the thunder crashing overhead and hoped that the storm would rage on so violently for the next twenty-four hours, the wedding would have to be cancelled. But the weather gods had come through for Imogen and given her the gift of a perfect day.

When the ground levelled out to reveal the palazzo in all its splendour, music drifted across the expanse of lawn, accompanied by the buzz of chatter and happy laughter of guests mingling. A string quartet was playing Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons
and in the shade of the central loggia that was covered by creeping vine ornately clipped into an interlocking design, chairs had been set out; each chair decorated with pink and white ribbons. Through the central arcade of the loggia, there was a marquee where, presumably, lunch would be served. The way her stomach was churning, Floriana didn’t think she’d make it as far as lunch. Sick with worry, she was terrified Seb was going to do something appallingly dramatic. Or more accurately, something ruinously destructive.

Taking in the smartly dressed gathering and unsurprisingly not recognising a single face, Floriana wondered how many of the guests Seb actually knew. His parents wouldn’t be here – he’d told her back in January that he hadn’t even informed them he was getting married; he’d as good as cut himself off from them. Just as he’d done with her in his attempt to start a new life.

Aware that Adam was no longer at her side, Floriana turned to look for him. Over by the balustrade, he was leaning against it with his back to the view of the lake, one leg crossed over the other, his hands behind his back. His head tipped to one side, he gave the impression of being very relaxed, as though he were quite at home here. Impeccably dressed in a light grey suit and white shirt that showed off his tan, he looked eye-catchingly handsome.

Filled with a warm glow of deep affection for this one-in-a-million man, she recalled the pair of them sitting on the swing seat together two nights ago. She remembered especially the way her body had fitted against his and how good it had felt. She wished she could turn back the clock and be there with him again, to when she had felt so refreshingly carefree.

‘What were you thinking just then?’ he asked, when she joined him by the balustrade.

‘That you’re one in a million. What were you thinking?’

‘That you look bloody fantastic and I’m lucky to be here with you. To which no response is required. Instead, take a gander at this view, it’s quite something.’

Facing the lake, she linked arms with him. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘What for?’

‘For everything. But mostly for fixing things so it was possible for Esme to return here. It wouldn’t have happened without you.’

‘I had an ulterior motive; I wanted to spend time with you.’

She smiled at him. ‘I’m glad you did.’

He raised his sunglasses and gave her a penetrating stare. ‘Really?’

Before she could reply, Vivaldi’s
Four Seasons
came to an end and the abrupt silence gave way to a murmur of anticipation: it was time for everyone to sit down; the service was about to start.

An usher showed them to mid-row seats and while Adam struck up polite conversation with the couple on his left, Floriana, who had an aisle seat, scanned the front row of chairs for Seb. There was no sign of him. There was, however, a blond-haired woman elegantly dressed in a lilac-coloured two-piece suit and a feathery fascinator perched on her head – the bride’s mother, Floriana assumed. Straining to get a better look, she watched her talking to a woman with an iPad in her hands. The wedding planner, perhaps? What must this shindig be costing? Floriana pondered. A venue like this one wouldn’t come cheap.

From somewhere close by she heard the trill of a mobile.
Uh-oh
, she thought, glad it wasn’t hers – first social breach of wedding etiquette committed.

She felt a nudge at her elbow. ‘Is that
your
mobile?’ asked Adam.

Convinced it was somebody else’s, she opened Esme’s beaded bag on her lap to prove she wasn’t the guilty offender. She was wrong. Seb had texted her:
Are you here?

Oh God, what was he thinking, texting her just minutes before his wedding? Was he mad? And what should she do? Ignore or reply?

For his peace of mind, she decided to reply with just one word:
Yes.

Then for her own peace of mind she switched off the phone.

‘Everything all right?’ asked Adam, when she slipped the phone back inside her bag.

She nodded. Time will tell, she thought grimly.

The string quartet had started up again and the only chairs that remained empty were the ones right at the front. The service should have started fifteen minutes ago and with every minute that passed, Floriana’s anxiety increased. Her experience of weddings was minimal and of the few she’d attended she couldn’t remember if they’d started late. The wedding that stuck out most in her memory was her sister’s. Ann had been adamant that as with everything else in her life, it would run like clockwork and start on time. Sure enough, Ann had arrived at the church, with Floriana in tow as a bridesmaid, bang on the appointed hour. The fact that Ann had very nearly suffered a nervous breakdown to make it happen was neither here nor there.

‘Perhaps they’ve given the formalities a miss and eloped,’ Adam whispered in her ear when another five minutes had passed and the bride’s mother was exchanging don’t-worry-every-bride-is-late looks with those immediately around her.

Over by one of the ivy-clad pillars, the wedding planner was talking to a short, barrel-chested man in a well-worn suit. He didn’t look like a guest, rather he had an official air about him; perhaps he would be the one to make Seb and Imogen man and wife.

Another five minutes passed. Floriana’s head throbbed with a low and steady beat as countless plausible and wholly innocent reasons for the delay spooled through her mind. But then a stir of activity rippled around the gathering and everyone glanced towards the front.

Floriana’s heart did a little leap: there was Seb! Behind him was a tall fair-haired man, presumably his best man and Imogen’s brother, Jules. They both approached the bride’s mother – Imogen’s brother walking slowly with a pronounced limp – then took their seats. But not before Seb turned and surveyed the expectant faces all looking his way. Floriana knew what he was doing; he was seeking her out. In the time it took for him to locate her, Floriana’s apprehension was compounded by the bleakness of his expression. Why was he doing this? Why go through with something that was obviously making him so miserable?

When his gaze settled on her, and flickered towards Adam, he didn’t smile or give her a friendly wave, instead the grimness of his expression intensified to such an extent that when he turned his back on her and sat down she could almost believe he held her accountable for his being here against his will.

I can’t watch him do this, she thought when behind her someone joked about never having seen such a nervy groom. ‘He looks like he’s about to throw up,’ a man said. Adam reached for her hand. She tried to muster a smile for him, but failed hopelessly.

There was a pause in the music and then Bach’s ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring’ began. A few chords in and, at the front, Seb and his best man rose to their feet. The latter looked over his shoulder to watch for his sister’s arrival; Seb stayed facing the front.

The first to appear was a pair of flower girls in pretty marshmallow-pink dresses and carrying baskets, from which they clumsily distributed pink rose petals as they made their way forward. They looked about four years old and drew predictable
oohs
and
aahs
of delight from the guests. Behind the two little girls came the main event – the bride with her father and a posse of older bridesmaids in the same soft pink.

There was no disputing that with her slender body and ice-blond hair, Imogen made a stunning bride; she looked exquisite. The dress – white and elegantly simple – had a sweetheart neckline with a ruched bodice that fell to a fish-tailed skirt that trailed behind her and was embellished with pearls and sparkling crystals; the back plunged in a deep V to her waist. She looked utterly radiant, a vision of breathtaking loveliness.

Only when Imogen had reached her destination by Seb’s side, and after she had passed her bouquet of pink and white roses to one of the bridesmaids and they’d taken their seats behind her mother, did Seb truly look at his bride.

The official conducting the service now took over, delivering his lines in Italian and pausing, as he explained, at the required moments for an interpreter to fulfil the legal requirement of translation. This, so he said, was so that the parties concerned could not claim at a later date the marriage wasn’t legal because they had misunderstood what they were taking on.

‘Love is the force that allows us to face fear and uncertainty with courage,’ the translator addressed the bride and groom, ‘and the challenge of marriage is to preserve your integrity and your individuality when you become as one with your partner. This takes commitment and great honesty.’

Oh, Seb, Floriana thought miserably, where’s your honesty and integrity in all this? She lowered her head, closed her eyes and tuned out of the service. She didn’t want to hear any more. But what did she want of him now? To back out at this late stage for the sake of his integrity? Better, surely, to do the deed and extricate himself later when Imogen’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt so much.

And how ironic was it that Floriana should care about Imogen’s feelings?

A sudden squeezing of her hand made her jerk her head up. She looked at Adam. His brows drawn, he directed her attention to the front where Seb was now speaking.

‘I’m sorry,’ he was saying, his eyes darting over the rows of guests, ‘and I know you’ve all travelled a hell of a long way to participate in this day, but—’

Her face as white as her dress, Imogen looked aghast. Floriana felt the colour drain from her own face and her heart raced wildly. She gripped Adam’s hand as if she might fall.

‘But the thing is,’ Seb continued, ‘I’d be a liar if I stood here and professed to love Imogen in the way I should.’

Imogen gasped.

Other people gasped too.

‘I’m sorry, Imogen, but I just can’t do it.’

‘
No!
’ she cried. ‘Don’t do this.’

‘You’ll thank me in the end,’ he said. ‘Why would you want to be married to me when I’m in love with somebody else?’

With
Schadenfreude
pulsing in the air, the translator and official exchanged frantic glances of panic. Imogen’s parents were on their feet. So was her brother. The wedding planner looked like she wanted make a run for it; this had to be her worst nightmare.

Floriana was tempted to make a run for it as well. Then to her horror, above the rumble of prurient excitement breaking out amongst the guests, she heard Imogen say, ‘It’s that bloody Floriana, isn’t it?’ Her voice had risen to a loud screech. ‘This is her doing! Where is she? Where is that bitch?’

Seb’s guilt-riddled body language immediately alerted Imogen to where she was sitting and, mortified, Floriana felt herself become the focus of everyone present.
I’ve done nothing wrong!
she wanted to scream.

But she had. She should never have agreed to come here.

Next to him Floriana may have become rooted to her chair with shock, but Adam quickly rose from his with a potent surge of adrenalin. If there was going to be any kind of a confrontation, he was going to deal with it on his feet, and with Imogen bearing down on Floriana, he stepped neatly into the aisle to position himself squarely between the avenging bride and her prey.

Objectively, the poor girl had every right to be furious and in need of a retributive face-off, but no way was he going to let Floriana be used for that purpose. If Imogen needed to blame anyone, she had to look to the idiot of a man who’d led her to this disastrous point. A man who was now chasing after her. Along with her stunned parents and brother.

‘Out of my way,’ the jilted bride hissed at Adam. ‘Let me see her.’

‘Imogen, please don’t. Not here.’

She rounded on the man she had been about to marry. ‘Not
here
?’ she screeched, her whole body quivering. ‘Where then? On our cancelled honeymoon? Or perhaps back in London in our house where you’re
never
setting foot again?’ Drawing breath, but for no more than a split second, she started to scream at him.

‘How dare you do this to me! How dare you do this in front of all my friends and family! Why did you have to humiliate me this way? Why?’

‘Darling,’ her mother pleaded, ‘I hate to agree with him –’ she shot Seb an accusatory glare – ‘but please, not in front of everybody.’

‘I want answers,’ Imogen shrieked, ‘and I want them now! I want to know how you –’ she jabbed a finger in the air at Seb – ‘could go through with all the arrangements when you never really loved me.’

‘I did love you. You must believe that.’

‘
Liar!
’ Her voice wobbled and she began to sob. ‘It’s Floriana you’ve always loved!’ She suddenly tried to push past Adam, to get at the person she clearly blamed, but he stood securely and resolutely blocking her way.

Thwarted, she thrust a hand out at Floriana. ‘That’s who you love! Right there!’ She then turned to the other guests. ‘And the worst of it is, she just wouldn’t leave him alone. This is her doing!’

On her feet now, visibly trembling, her eyes large and dark, her face flushed, Floriana shook her head. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. We’ve only ever been friends. Nothing more. He’s like a brother to me.’

Imogen’s father pressed in close. ‘Imogen, enough. No more. Don’t put yourself through this.’ To Seb, and above the noise of Imogen gulping for air as she collapsed into her mother’s arms, he said, ‘I don’t know what the hell’s going on here, but you’ve got some explaining to do. We’ll speak later, when Imogen’s calmed down. For now, I think it would be better if you left us alone, this is family time.’

Perhaps sensing it was safe to do so, and clutching her iPad like it was a protective shield, the wedding planner approached. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked, looking apprehensively around the group.