The Wedding Girl Page 22

  'Olivia '

  `Make sure you send us a postcard.'

  `Olivia, don't be like this!'

  `Like what? How else do you expect me to react? You've been planning to leave me!'

  `Well, what was I supposed to do?' said James furiously. `Just say no on the spot? Settle down to another twenty years in Bath?'

  `No!' cried Olivia, her eyes suddenly glittering with tears. `You were supposed to ask me to come with you. I'm your wife, James. You were supposed to ask me.'

  `What was the point? You would have said '

  `You don't know what I would have said!' Olivia's voice trembled and she lifted her chin high. `You don't know what I would have said, James. And you couldn't even be bothered to find out.'

  'I ...' James stopped.

  `You couldn't even be bothered to find out,' repeated Olivia, and a slight note of scorn entered her voice.

  There was a long silence.

  `What would you have said?' asked James finally. `If I had asked you?' He tried to meet Olivia's eye, but she was staring down at the piece of teapot which she still held in her hands, and her face was unreadable.

  The doorbell rang. Neither of them moved.

  `What would you have said, Olivia?' said James.

  `I don't know,' said Olivia at last. She put the piece of teapot down on the table and looked up. `I probably would have asked you if you were really so unhappy with the life you have here. I would have asked if you really thought a new city would solve all your problems. And if you'd said yes ' The doorbell rang again, loud and insistent, and she broke off. `You'd better get that,' she said. James gazed at her for a few seconds, then got to his feet.

  He strode into the hall, opened the door and took a step back in surprise. Alexander was standing on the doorstep. His face was unshaven, he was surrounded by bags and his eyes were wary.

  `Look,' he said, as soon as he saw James. `I'm sorry. I really am. You've got to believe me. I didn't mean to set all this off.'

  `It hardly matters any more, does it?' said James wearily. `The damage is done. If I were you, I'd just turn round and go.'

  `It matters to me,' said Alexander. `Plus . . .' He paused. `Plus, I've still got some stuff here. In my room. Your daughter chucked me out before I could get it.'

  `I see,' said James. `Well, you'd better come in, then.'

  Cautiously, Alexander entered the house. He glanced at the wedding cake boxes and grimaced.

  `Is Milly here?' he asked.

  `No. She's with her godmother.'

  `Is she all right?'

  `What do you think?' said James, folding his arms. Alexander flinched.

  `Look, it wasn't my fault!' he said.

  `What do you mean, it wasn't your fault?' Olivia appeared at the kitchen door, her face indignant. `Milly told us how you teased her. How you threatened her. You're nothing but a nasty little bully!'

  `Give me a break,' said Alexander. `She's hardly a saint herself!'

  `Perhaps, Alexander, you thought you were doing the world a service by exposing her,' said James. `Perhaps you thought you were doing your duty. But you could have come to us first, or Simon, before informing the vicar.'

  `I didn't want to expose her, for God's sake,' said Alexander impatiently. `I just wanted to wind her up.7

  `Wind her up?'

  'Tease her a bit. You know. And that's all I did. I didn't tell the vicar! Why should I tell the vicar?'

  `Who knows how your nasty little mind might work,' said Olivia.

  `I don't know why I'm bothering,' said Alexander. `You're never going to believe me. But I didn't do it, OK! Why should I wreck Milly's wedding? You were paying me to photograph the fucking thing! Why should I want to ruin it?'

  There was silence. James glanced at Olivia.

  `I don't even know the vicar's name,' said Alexander. He sighed. `Listen, I tried to tell Isobel and she wouldn't listen, and now I'm trying to tell you, and you won't listen. But it's true. I didn't tell anyone about Milly. I really didn't. Jesus, she could have six husbands for all I care!'

  `All right,' said James, exhaling sharply. `All right. Well, if you didn't say anything, who did?'

  `God knows. Who else knew about it?'

  `No one,' said Olivia. `She hadn't told anyone.'

  There was silence.

  `She told Esme,' said James eventually. He met Olivia's eyes. `She told Esme.'

  Isobel sat in a remote corner of the drive to Pinnacle Hall, looking through her car windscreen at Milly's marquee, just visible behind the corner of the house. She had been sitting there for half an hour, quietly composing her thoughts; honing her concentration as though for an exam. She would say what she had to say to Harry, brook as little objection as possible, then leave. She would be friendly, but businesslike. If he refused her proposal, she would . . . Isobel's thoughts faltered. He couldn't refuse such a reasonable plan. He simply couldn't.

  She stared at her hands already swollen, it seemed, with pregnancy. The very word sent teenage shivers down her back. Pregnancy, they had been instructed at school, was akin to a nuclear missile destroying everything in its path and leaving its victims to struggle through a subsequent life hardly worth living. It destroyed careers, relationships, happiness. The risk was simply not worth it, the mistresses had opined, and at the back the lower sixth had sniggered and passed the telephone numbers of abortion clinics along the rows. Now Isobel closed her eyes. Perhaps the teachers had been right all along. Had this pregnancy not occurred, her relationship with Harry might have flowered into something more than occasional meetings. She had already begun to feel a longing to be with him more often; to share moments of pleasure and pain; to hear his voice when she woke up. She had wanted to tell him she loved him.

  But now there was a baby. There was a new element, a new pace: a new pressure on both of them. To keep the baby would be to trample across Harry's wishes, to force their relationship into a new climate where, already, she knew it would not survive. To keep the baby would destroy their relationship. And yet to do anything else would destroy her.

  Her heart aching a little, she reached inside her bag and gave her hair one final comb, then opened the car door and got out. The air was surprisingly mild and breezy, like a spring evening. Calmly she walked across the gravel towards the big front door, for once unafraid of observation by suspicious eyes. Today she had every reason to be at Pinnacle Hall.

  She rang at the door and smiled at the red-haired girl who answered.

  `I'd like to see Harry Pinnacle, please. It's Isobel Havill. The sister of Milly Havill.'

  `I know who you are,' said the girl in less than friendly tones. `I suppose it's about the wedding? Or the non-wedding, I should say.' She stared with bulging eyes at Isobel as though it were all her fault, and for the first time, Isobel wondered what people might be saying and thinking about Milly.

  `That's right,' she said. `If you could just say I'm here.'

  `I'm not sure he's available,' said the girl.

  `Perhaps you could ask,' said Isobel politely.

  `Wait here.'

  After a few minutes the girl returned.

  `He can see you,' she said, as though bestowing a huge favour. `But not for long.'

  `Did he say that?' The girl was aggressively silent and Isobel found herself smiling inwardly.

  They arrived at the door of Harry's study and the girl knocked.

  `Yes!' came Harry's voice at once. The girl pushed open the door and Harry looked up from his desk.

  `Isobel Havill,' she announced.

  `Yes,' said Harry, meeting Isobel's eyes. `I know.'

  As the door closed behind the girl he put his pen down and looked at Isobel without saying anything. Isobel didn't move. She stood, trembling slightly, feeling his gaze on her skin like sunshine, then closed her eyes, trying to gather her thoughts. She heard him rise; heard him come towards her. His hand had grasped hers; his lips were pressed against the tender skin of her inner wrist, before she opened her eyes
and said `No.'

  He looked up, her hand still in his, and she gazed desperately into his face, trying to convey all that she had to say in a single look. But there were too many conflicting desires and thoughts for him to read. A flash of something like disappointment passed over his face and he dropped her hand abruptly.

  `A drink,' he said.

  `I've got something to say to you,' said Isobel.

  `I see,' said Harry. `Do you want to sit down?'

  `No,' said Isobel. `I just want to say it.'

  'OK, then say it!'

  Tine!' said Isobel. `Here it is.' She paused, steeling herself to utter the words. `I'm pregnant,' she said, then stopped, and the guilty word seemed to echo round the room. `With your baby,' she added. Harry made a slight start. `What?' said Isobel defensively. `Don't you believe me?'

  `Of course I fucking believe you,' said Harry. `I was going to say . . .' He broke off. `It doesn't matter. Carry on.I

  `You don't seem surprised,' said Isobel.

  `Is that part of your little speech?'

  'Oh, shut up!' She took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on the corner of the mantelpiece, willing her voice to remain steady. `I've thought about it very hard,' she said. `I've considered all the options, and I've decided to keep it.' She paused. `I've taken this decision knowing you don't want a child. So she'll have my name and I'll be responsible for her.'

  `You know it's a girl?' interrupted Harry.

  `No,' said Isobel shakily, put off her stride. `I . . . I tend to use the feminine pronoun if the gender is unspecific.'

  `I see,' said Harry. `Carry on.'

  `I'll be responsible for her,' said Isobel, speaking more quickly. `Financially, as well as everything else. But I think every child needs a father if at all possible. I know you didn't choose for things to be this way but neither did I, and neither did the baby.' She paused and clenched her fists tightly by her sides. `And so I'd like to ask that you carry some parental responsibility and involvement. What I propose is a regular meeting, perhaps once a month, so that this child grows up knowing who her father is. I'm not asking any more than that. But any child deserves that minimum. I'm just trying to be reasonable.' She looked up, with sudden tears in her eyes. `I'm just trying to be reasonable, Harry!'

  `Once a month,' said Harry, frowning.

  `Yes!' said Isobel angrily. `You can't expect a child to bond on twice-yearly meetings.'

  `I suppose not.' Harry stalked to the window and Isobel watched him apprehensively. Suddenly he turned round.

  `What about twice a month? Would that do?'

  Isobel stared at him.

  `Yes,' she said. `Of course '

  `Or twice a week?'

  `Yes. But . . .' Harry began to walk slowly towards her, his warm eyes locked onto hers.

  `How about twice a day?'

  'Harry-'

  `How about every morning and every afternoon and all through the night?' He gently took hold of her hands; she made no effort to resist.

  `I don't understand,' she said, trying to retain control of herself. `I don't-'

  `How about I love you?' said Harry. `How about I want to be with you all the time? And be a better father to our child than I ever was with Simon.'

  Isobel gazed up at him. Emotions were pushing up to the surface in an uncontrollable surge.

  `But you can't! You said you didn't want a baby!' The words came rushing out of her in a hurt, accusatory roar; tears suddenly spilled onto her cheeks and she pulled her hands away. `You said-'

  `When did I say that?' interrupted Harry. `I never said that.'

  `You didn't exactly say it,' said Isobel after a pause. `But you pulled a face.'

  `I did what?'

  `A few months ago. I said a friend of mine was pregnant and you pulled this . . . this face.' Isobel swallowed. `And I said, Oh don't you like babies? And you changed the subject.' She looked up, to see Harry staring at her incredulously.

  `That's it?'

  `Isn't it enough? I knew what you meant.'

  `You nearly got rid of our baby because of that?'

  `I didn't know what to do!' cried Isobel defensively. `I thought-'

  Harry shook his head.

  `You think too much,' he said. `That's your problem.'

  `I don't!'

  `You reckon I don't like babies. Have you ever seen me with a baby?'

  `No,' gulped Isobel.

  `No. Exactly.'

  He put his arms firmly round her and she closed her eyes. After a while, she felt the tension start to sag out of her. A thousand questions were racing around her mind, but, for the moment, she let them race.

  `I like babies,' Harry said comfortably. `As long as they don't squawk.' Isobel tensed and her head jerked up.

  `All babies squawk!' she said. `You can't expect-' She broke off, seeing his face. `Oh. You're joking.'

  `Of course I'm joking,' said Harry. He raised his eyebrows. `Are you this good at interpreting your foreign diplomats? No wonder the world's at war Isobel Havill's been conducting the negotiations. She thought you didn't want peace because you pulled a nasty face.'

  Isobel gave a shaky half-giggle half-sob, and nestled into his chest.

  `You really want to have this baby?' she said. `Seriously?'

  `I seriously do,' said Harry. He paused, stroking her hair. `And even if I didn't,' he added in a deadpan voice, `you shouldn't get rid of it. You never know, this might be your only chance.'

  `Thanks a lot.'

  `You're welcome.'

  They stood for a while saying nothing, then Isobel pulled reluctantly away.

  `I've got to go,' she said.

  'Why?'

  `They might need me at home.'

  `They don't need you,' said Harry. `I need you. Stay here tonight.'

  `Really?' Isobel tensed. `But what if someone sees me?' Harry began to laugh.

  `Isobel, haven't you got it into your head yet?' he said. `I want everyone to see you! I love you! I want to ' He broke off and looked at her with a different expression. `Try this for size. What would you think about . . . about giving the baby my name?'

  `You don't mean ...' Isobel stared up at him, feeling her skin begin to tingle.

  `I don't know,' said Harry. `It depends. Do you already have a husband I should know about?'

  `Bastard!' said Isobel, kicking his shins.

  `Is that a yes?' said Harry, starting to laugh. `Or a no?'

  `Bastard!'

  James and Alexander sat at the kitchen table, drinking brandy and waiting for Olivia to come off the phone.

  `I got these developed, by the way,' said Alexander suddenly, pulling out a stiff brown envelope from his bag. `On the house.'

  `What are they?' said James.

  `Have a look.'

  James put down his drink, opened the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of glossy black and white photographs. He stared at the top one silently, then leafed through slowly to the bottom. Milly stared up at him again and again, her eyes wide and luminous, the curves of her face falling into soft shadows, her engagement ring sparkling discreetly in the corner of the frame.

  `These are incredible,' he said at last. `Absolutely extraordinary.

  `Thanks,' said Alexander offhandedly. `I was pleased with them.'

  `She looks beautiful, of course,' said James. `She always looks beautiful. But it's not just that.' He gazed again at the top print. `You've captured a depth to Milly in these pictures that I've never seen before. She suddenly looks . . . intriguing.'

  `She looks like a woman with a secret,' said Alexander. He took a swig of brandy. `Which is exactly what she was.'

  James looked up at him.

  `Is that why you teased her? To get these pictures?'

  `Partly,' said Alexander. `And partly because . . .' he shrugged . I'm an evil bastard, and that kind of thing gives me kicks.'

  `And never mind the consequences?' said James.

  `I didn't know there would be any consequences,' said Alexander. `I cer
tainly didn't realize she would panic. She seemed so ...' He paused. `On top of herself.'

  `She may look strong,' said James, `but she's fragile underneath.' He paused. `Just like her mother.'

  They both looked up as Olivia appeared in the kitchen.

  `So,' said James grimly. `Did you speak to Canon Lytton? Was it Esme who told him?'

  `That silly young curate wouldn't tell me!' said Olivia, with a spark of her old vigour. `Can you believe it? He said it wasn't up to him to break a confidence, and Canon Lytton was too busy to come to the phone. Too busy!'

  `What's he doing?' asked James.

  Olivia exhaled sharply and a curious flicker passed across her face.

  `Conducting a wedding rehearsal,' she said. `For the other couple getting married tomorrow.' There was a subdued little pause. `I don't suppose there's much we can do about it,' she added, pouring herself a glass of brandy.

  `Yes there is,' said James. `We can go round there and we can get an answer.'

  `What, and interrupt the wedding rehearsal?' Olivia stared at him. `James, are you serious?'

  `Yes,' said James. `I am. If my cousin has betrayed Milly's confidence and deliberately ruined her wedding, then I want to know about it.' He put down his drink. `Come on, Olivia! Where's your fighting spirit?'

  `Are you serious?' repeated Olivia.

  `Yes,' said James. `And besides ' he glanced at Alexander '-it might be fun.'

  Simon was sitting by the window of his bedroom, trying to read a book, as the doorbell rang. A spasm of nerves went through him and he quickly got to his feet, discarding the book. It was Milly. It had to be Milly.

  He had driven back to Pinnacle Hall from Esme's house with a hopeful happiness bubbling through him like spring water. After the wounding shock and anger of last night, he felt as though life was once again on course. He'd made the first move towards a reconciliation with Milly; as soon as she responded, he would renew his apologies and try to heal the wound between them as best he could. They would wait patiently for her divorce to come through; organize another wedding; start life again.

  And now here she was. He descended the wide stairs, a foolish grin spreading over his face, and briskly crossed the hall. But before he was halfway across, his father's study door opened and Harry appeared. He was laughing and gesturing to someone in his room; a whisky glass was in his hand.