Wedding Tiers (15 page)

‘Hmm,’ she said, unconvinced. ‘I’m more worried that you’ll go to pieces
after
the wedding, while I’m away.’

‘No, honestly. I have to keep going for Harry’s sake and the Three Graces, and—’

‘Are you regretting throwing Ben out?’

‘Yes—no—I don’t know…’ I said confusedly. ‘I was a bit until I found those horrible notes from Olivia. Oh, don’t ask me, Libby, because it just makes my head spin and I feel sick and…and really, it’s better to try not to think at all, just live from moment to moment. Ben’s sending a van up for his stuff sometime today, because I think he’s afraid I might destroy it in a fit of pique, so every last vestige of him should be gone when I get home, which might help.’

‘Well, at least Noah can make sure you don’t drink so much that you dance on the tables or anything—or not until we’ve left for Pisa,’ Libby said frankly. ‘Then it might do you good to let your hair down and get sloshed in company, rather than alone. And it would keep him out of mischief too. Just remember he’s a demon philanderer and don’t get carried away, will you?’

‘Unlikely He’s not my type.’

‘He’s certainly nothing like Ben, that’s for sure. And anyway,’ she added, ‘he seems to go out with blonde, stick-thin models, so you clearly aren’t his type either.’

‘That girl he had with him the first time he came to Neatslake looked like that. Do you think she’s his current girlfriend?’

‘Well, she probably
was
but he may have moved on by now. And come to think of it, he did say last night that if anyone called Anji rang up and asked for him, I was to say he was out, so it looks like another one has bitten the dust.’

She handed me a small box. ‘This is for you, a gift from me and Tim, with our love.’

Inside was a pretty little seed pearl locket of antique design, which she insisted I put on straight away. It went very well with the medieval style of my old-rose-coloured velvet.

‘Thank you, Libs. It’s lovely!’

Gina came in with a tray of coffee and Genoa cake, with little napkins to hold under our chins to prevent our dresses getting
dripped on. Libby was too nervous to eat and I didn’t want to, though she made me.

‘I’m not having you swoon in the church,’ she said.

‘Here, have this big piece,’ Gina insisted. ‘You are too thin, you need feeding up.’

‘Are Maria and Pia ready yet?’ asked Libby, putting her coffee cup down and then making sure her lipstick wasn’t smeared. ‘I thought Pia might have come to see me, before they leave for the church.’

‘Maria made her go back to take off the black nail varnish and the dark purple eye shadow, so there may not be time,’ Gina said. She picked up the tray. ‘Now I take my apron off and put on my best hat, and go myself’.

‘God, I need to pee now!’ Libby said, looking at me in horror as the door closed behind Gina. ‘How on earth do I do that in this dress?’

‘I think that’s where the bridesmaid comes in,’ I said, resignedly.

Clutching the velvet Dolly bag containing the wedding ring Libby would give to Tim, I followed her down the aisle in a sort of trance, feeling quite divorced from reality.

I spotted Harry’s silvery head of curls near the back, and then Libby’s mother, Gloria Martin, wearing only half her usual makeup and looking unfamiliarly muted. She was neatly sandwiched between her elder daughter, Daisy, and Maria Cazzini, with Pia on the end of the pew dressed in a funereal shade of dark purple—but at least she was
there
, that was the thing that would matter most to Libby.

Dorrie was seated in the row behind them in her best, heather-blue tweed suit, pearls, and the cashmere jumper she’d got Pansy to darn for her after the moths got at it last year. I didn’t spot the Three Graces, but I could hear them twittering excitedly.

We came to a halt, then Libby and Tim turned to face each other, the expressions on their faces so moving that for a moment it broke through my defences. I got a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.

The best man, Nick Pharamond, gave me a grave smile. He was attractive without being handsome—unlike Noah, who was both. He had greeted us at the door wearing a quite beautiful suit with a rich, subtle sheen and looking, even I had to admit, slim, elegant and entirely delectable, in his own unique way. He might not be my cup of tea, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate his charms.

The rest of the service passed like a dream, though I was conscious of a lot of cheerfully uninhibited Cazzini sobbing behind me, together with the occasional broken exclamation in Italian from Gina, when sentiment transported her a little too far.

Then it was all signed, sealed and delivered, and out we poured from the church into a cloud of rose petals, while the bells joyously pealed out.

Noah, his pale grey eyes narrowed in amusement, cast a handful of the confetti over my head and then snapped away with his camera at my bemused face, as I blinked in the wintry sunshine.

There was much kissing and congratulation, and then the official photographer began to marshal us together into the obligatory wedding groups. Even Pia condescended to appear in one of those, after some urging by Maria Cazzini. Maybe the chance to stand near Jasper Pharamond might have helped swing it: she couldn’t take her eyes off him. The
Cotton Common
soap star, Rob Rafferty, was a bit of a babe-magnet too, in a lushly golden, ripe-and-ready way.

In fact, there seemed to be an abundance of attractive men about…with one notable exception, of course. And perhaps the fact that I’d noticed them was a healthy sign, like going window shopping when you’re penniless, to pick out something you might one day be able to buy.

Since it was pretty chilly, most of the guests were soon in full flight across the Green towards the beckoning warmth and shelter of the Old Barn. We were pared down to a final line-up of me,
the happy couple, the best man and Jasper and Noah, who were standing at either end of the row like two darkly handsome bookends.

‘You look absolutely stunning,’ Noah, who was on my right, said in my ear. His aftershave was some deliciously subtle and probably grossly expensive blend that reminded me of limes and cricket fields on sunny days, if you can imagine that. ‘You’ve got a sort of calm, grave, Pre-Raphaelite quality about you,’ he added, which just went to show that although I felt cold and distanced from what was happening, I must still have been functioning normally enough to fool most people into thinking I was all right!

‘Of course!’ Libby exclaimed, leaning forward from my other side so she could see him. ‘I knew she reminded me of some painting or other in that dress. It’s that one of a woman by a window, stretching.’

Tim, who’d been looking at his wife as though he’d just won a Gold Medal at the Chelsea Flower Show, gave me a kind smile over her head and nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I think she’s wearing a green dress, isn’t she?’

‘I know the one you mean, too,’ said Noah, ‘but actually I was thinking more of those militant Burne-Jones angels in stained-glass windows, holding swords and looking as if they know how to use them.’

I was sort of flattered to be called stunning and then likened to a Pre-Raphaelite
anything
, even if the models they used usually looked sulky—I expect it’s the full underlip. I wasn’t too sure about the sword bit, though.

‘I’m just grateful you didn’t say it was that painting of Ophelia, floating down a river covered in flowers and wearing a wet expression,’ I said to Libby.

Noah grinned. ‘Well, she would if she was in a river, wouldn’t she? But I don’t see you as an Ophelia. Come on, the photographer’s finished here and if we linger any longer we’re all going to freeze to death.’

He was right. The sky was going leaden and the cold breeze held a hint of snow, though I hoped it would hold off until the happy couple and most of the guests had left the reception.

Jasper and Nick were already halfway across the Green as I helped Libby put on her velvet cape. She walked off, holding hands with Tim, and I shrugged myself into the wine-coloured cut-velvet jacket she’d loaned to me, and followed them.

Noah, clicking away with his camera again, darted around us like a half-trained sheepdog, until Libby begged him to stop. Then he fell in beside me and put his arm through mine.

‘Tell me, do you ever smile?’ he asked. ‘I mean, I love the serious angel expression, but I’m sure even they cracked the odd grin when no one was looking. You’re not still holding the hen incident against me, are you?’

‘Not really. And I’m so sorry if I’m not exactly a laugh a minute, but do feel free to go and find some more cheerful company when we get to the reception. In fact, I wish you would!’

‘Ah, I was forgetting the break-up with the boyfriend,’ he said. ‘No wonder you’re a bit ratty. Though I can’t say you look particularly broken-hearted: more devastating, in fact, than devastated!’

‘That’s because I’m not really broken-hearted,’ I lied. ‘It was just a bit of a shock, that’s all, because we’d been together quite a long time. And I’m
not
ratty!’

I didn’t think I was devastating either, but I expect he says that sort of thing to women all the time.

The barn, with the big portable heaters blasting away in the corners, was bright and warm, and everyone was standing chatting in the middle of the room in front of the stage, where the hired waiters were circling with the drinks.

I took a glass of champagne and circulated too, chatting to anyone I knew, and several people I didn’t, as if I hadn’t a care in the world—or I
hoped
that was the effect I was giving, anyway. The alcohol on top of an almost empty stomach probably helped,
and it got even easier after a second glass, though I don’t think bought champagne is half as nice as sparkling elderflower.

Then our attention was called to where the bride and groom were poised to slice into the Leaning Tower of Pisa, while the official photographer took one last picture and then departed, his job done. Then they had to pretend to cut the cake all over again for the morose
Glorious Weddings
photographer, who made the reception in the nick of time. I’d quite forgotten he was coming and so, I was sure, had Libby and Tim.

I expect Noah took some shots too, so this has to be the most photographed cake in the world.

When they were finally allowed to put down the mother-of-pearl-handled cake knife, Nick, as best man, gave the usual short speech, including a couple of anecdotes about when he and Tim had been at school together.

Then Tim, his arm around Libby and beaming broadly, began, ‘My wife and I—’

We all drowned him out with cheers.

He held up his hands for silence. ‘My wife and I would like to thank you for coming here today. Please now help yourselves to the wonderful buffet and afterwards the Mummers of Invention will entertain us.’

As bridesmaid I was sitting at a table with Libby and Tim. Nick and his wife, Lizzie, were opposite, and Noah was right next to me. He seemed to have forsaken photography for the sake of eating, for the moment at least, for his Leica was laid next to his plate. I still hadn’t got much of an appetite, but I’d collected a slice of cold meat and a couple of olives, more for appearance’s sake than anything.

I was just pushing the olives about in a disinterested sort of way when suddenly Gina appeared, her feather-trimmed felt hat falling forward over her flushed face. Snatching my plate away, she slapped down another, piled high with food, in its place.

‘Eat! Eat! Keep up your strength!’ she urged me, before surging
off again in the direction of the buffet, presumably to follow her own advice.

‘You know, that’s probably a good idea, before you knock back any more bubbly,’ Noah suggested mildly, and I scowled at him. However, I was afraid that if I didn’t eat at least some of her offering, Gina would come back and force-feed me, like a mother bird with one chick, so I had to make the attempt.

The Mummers of Invention helped themselves from the buffet too—
and
from a keg of beer at one side of the stage. Then they began to play a pleasant sort of electric folk-rock and a limp-looking girl started singing.

After a while Rob Rafferty got up on the stage with them and belted out the song ‘White Wedding’ with a very menacing edge. It seemed an odd choice until he’d finished and explained that Libby had requested it.

Libby is full of odd choices.

I’d forgotten that Rob Rafferty started out in music before turning to acting, and apparently he often sings with the group when he has time, to keep his hand in.

‘He’s terribly good-looking in a Viking sort of way—even more so off the telly than on,’ I murmured. Our table was closest to the stage and I was half-mesmerised by the lithe movements of his admirable body and the way his cerulean-blue eyes seemed to be fixed on me…though that was just a trick of the light, of course.

‘I wouldn’t get ideas, even if he
does
keep looking at you like you’re the last sweet in the tin,’ Noah whispered in my ear. ‘He’s a serial philanderer.’

‘Aren’t you all?’ I said bitterly, and he gave me a startled look.

‘Has Libby been giving you awful warnings about me, or was that a general reflection?’

‘General,’ I said, getting up. ‘Excuse me.’

Tim and Libby took to the floor for the first dance, and then so did lots of other guests and a good time was had by all—or
almost all.
I
was simply going through the motions, assisted by liberal amounts of champagne. I’d lost count of how much I’d drunk, but I don’t think bought champagne can be very alcoholic. It doesn’t taste like it, anyway.

I talked to Sophy Winter’s daughter, Lucy, who was learning to run the Winter’s End estate and must be a huge asset to her mother now visitor numbers have rocketed, due to the Shakespeare manuscript discovery. I loved Pia dearly, but I wished she was as sensible as Lucy, though I supposed that might happen when she was a bit older.

I’d registered that Pia had been hanging around Jasper Pharamond like a wet mist, but she didn’t seem to be making much headway with him. Then suddenly she abandoned him and flung her arms around Noah’s neck instead, in an overly affectionate way, which would have worried me had I not seen her look over her shoulder to see if Jasper was taking any notice.

He wasn’t. Noah, looking alarmed, disengaged himself with more haste than tact and made a beeline for me.

‘Help!’ he said urgently. ‘You have to protect me from Pia. I think she’s gone mad.’

‘Well, I’m her godmother and
I
certainly don’t want her getting off with a serial womaniser old enough to be her father.’

‘That’s a bit strong!’ he exclaimed, looking startled. ‘What on earth
has
Libby been telling you?’

I ignored that. ‘You needn’t flatter yourself, anyway. Pia was simply trying to get Jasper Pharamond’s attention by flirting with the nearest man, which just happened to be you.’

‘Consider my pretensions suitably dampened, then,’ Noah said. ‘But I’m relieved too. I always thought she regarded me in the light of an uncle.’

I was looking across at Jasper; I didn’t think he’d even noticed Pia’s ploy. ‘Jasper’s a serious sort of young man, so I could have told her those tactics weren’t going to work. In fact, I wouldn’t have thought she was his type at all.’

I lifted another glass from a passing tray and Noah said mildly, ‘Haven’t you had rather a lot to drink? You didn’t eat much lunch and even champagne isn’t good on an empty stomach. Maybe Libby was right, and you do need keeping an eye on?’

‘I don’t. I’m fine, absolutely fine. Wouldn’t you like to go off and philander with someone? I could introduce you to the three Miss Graces, if you like?’

‘The tiny trio of bewitching creatures with a startlingly original taste in headgear? Better not, I’d be spoiled for choice and might have to elope with all three together.’

‘I think Violet’s the raciest—she might suit you best,’ I suggested. ‘She has a wonderful red tricycle called Tinkerbell and when she was young, she told me she used to
smoke’

‘I smoulder a bit myself—she sounds like my sort of girl,’ he said. ‘Better keep me away.’

There was a burst of raucous laughter from the other end of the room and Libby caught my eye and made frantic gestures at me.

Obediently I pushed my way down there, where Daisy now had a firm grip on her mother’s arm. Gloria Martin was swaying slightly on her stilettos, a wild look in her eyes and a vague smile plastered to her lips. Her makeup was smudged and she had an air of reckless abandon. But then, she usually did.

‘Hi, Josie,’ Daisy said, ‘I’m afraid she gave me the slip when she said she was going to the loo.’

‘I did go,’ Gloria said. ‘Then a nice man outside gave me some brandy from his flask to keep the cold out. Brandy and champagne—there’s nothing like it!’