loved any excuse for a toast.
‘A white wedding,’ everyone chorused, raising their glasses in response.
When everyone had gone, Lucy paced out the lawn from the bottom of the stone steps that led down from the terrace at the back of Honeycote House. She’d already ignored the fact that the steps were crumbling. They couldn’t afford to repair everything that needed doing. Not that anyone would notice, for Lucy was an expert at making everything look just so.
She felt light of heart as she walked down the garden. She absolutely wasn’t going to be the interfering mother-in-law, but having the wedding here was going to give her something to get her teeth into. It would take her mind off her ennui and stop her going completely barking mad. Even though Mandy and Patrick were insisting that they wanted things kept simple, Lucy knew that this meant as much hard work as something more elaborate. If people weren’t going to be distracted by gimmicks, then everything had to be perfect. In an understated, rough-round-the-edges way. She wasn’t daunted, for so many things that seemed to be wedding prerequisites these days were superfluous and, usually, rather tasteless. As long as the food was delicious and there was plenty of booze, everything else would fall into place.
Lucy looked back up at the house from the bottom of the lawn and smiled in satisfaction. Mother Nature would provide most of the decoration. The bank that was studded with snowdrops and crocuses would be a brilliant green by May. The soggy ground would be dry, the lawn soft and lush, not yet parched. The countryside would be glowing in shades of emerald and lime interspersed with pinky-white blossom, the air thick with its heavenly scent. Why look any further for a source of inspiration? Mandy was right, decided Lucy. A white wedding. There was no point in trying to be clever about it. It was absolutely perfect.
Not far away, at Keeper’s Cottage in Kiplington, Keith slipped into the bathroom to freshen himself up. He looked at his reflection critically. He didn’t look as bad as he felt. He kept his hair clipped short these days now it had all turned steel grey, and there was no doubt it took a few years off. His face was slightly pink from rather too much to drink at lunch, but other than that he looked the picture of health.
Tomorrow might contradict his reflection. Tomorrow would bring the truth . . .
He brushed his teethed vigorously, spitting the foaming paste back into the sink, wondering if all the rich food would stop him falling asleep later. He hoped not. When he didn’t sleep, the nights were long and full of terror. Worst of all were the nights when he did drop off, then woke with a start at about three, drenched in sweat. There was no rhyme or reason to it.
He put his toothbrush back carefully, splashed water on his face and towelled it dry. He’d go back downstairs and watch the Sunday-night drama with Ginny. He often tried to slip into bed early these days, so he could feign unconsciousness when she got in beside him and thus avoid any embarrassment. But it wasn’t fair. He was pushing her away, just when he needed her most.
Given the choice, Kay would never have plumped for a metallic purple Nissan Micra. But her father had insisted on buying her a car. She knew he couldn’t really afford to part with five grand, but he’d wanted to do it. And now she had Flora, she understood how, as a parent, you would make any sacrifice for your children. Besides, her father knew a bloke who was selling his wife’s runaround, and he knew it had been looked after from brand new. So here she was, bowling along the road out of Eldenbury with Flora in a child seat that her mother had bought from the local paper and steam-cleaned until it looked like new, in a car that had ‘one careful lady owner’ written all over it, when what she was used to was a motor that screamed ‘reckless speed freak’.
But, as she reminded herself, that
‘A white wedding,’ everyone chorused, raising their glasses in response.
When everyone had gone, Lucy paced out the lawn from the bottom of the stone steps that led down from the terrace at the back of Honeycote House. She’d already ignored the fact that the steps were crumbling. They couldn’t afford to repair everything that needed doing. Not that anyone would notice, for Lucy was an expert at making everything look just so.
She felt light of heart as she walked down the garden. She absolutely wasn’t going to be the interfering mother-in-law, but having the wedding here was going to give her something to get her teeth into. It would take her mind off her ennui and stop her going completely barking mad. Even though Mandy and Patrick were insisting that they wanted things kept simple, Lucy knew that this meant as much hard work as something more elaborate. If people weren’t going to be distracted by gimmicks, then everything had to be perfect. In an understated, rough-round-the-edges way. She wasn’t daunted, for so many things that seemed to be wedding prerequisites these days were superfluous and, usually, rather tasteless. As long as the food was delicious and there was plenty of booze, everything else would fall into place.
Lucy looked back up at the house from the bottom of the lawn and smiled in satisfaction. Mother Nature would provide most of the decoration. The bank that was studded with snowdrops and crocuses would be a brilliant green by May. The soggy ground would be dry, the lawn soft and lush, not yet parched. The countryside would be glowing in shades of emerald and lime interspersed with pinky-white blossom, the air thick with its heavenly scent. Why look any further for a source of inspiration? Mandy was right, decided Lucy. A white wedding. There was no point in trying to be clever about it. It was absolutely perfect.
Not far away, at Keeper’s Cottage in Kiplington, Keith slipped into the bathroom to freshen himself up. He looked at his reflection critically. He didn’t look as bad as he felt. He kept his hair clipped short these days now it had all turned steel grey, and there was no doubt it took a few years off. His face was slightly pink from rather too much to drink at lunch, but other than that he looked the picture of health.
Tomorrow might contradict his reflection. Tomorrow would bring the truth . . .
He brushed his teethed vigorously, spitting the foaming paste back into the sink, wondering if all the rich food would stop him falling asleep later. He hoped not. When he didn’t sleep, the nights were long and full of terror. Worst of all were the nights when he did drop off, then woke with a start at about three, drenched in sweat. There was no rhyme or reason to it.
He put his toothbrush back carefully, splashed water on his face and towelled it dry. He’d go back downstairs and watch the Sunday-night drama with Ginny. He often tried to slip into bed early these days, so he could feign unconsciousness when she got in beside him and thus avoid any embarrassment. But it wasn’t fair. He was pushing her away, just when he needed her most.
Given the choice, Kay would never have plumped for a metallic purple Nissan Micra. But her father had insisted on buying her a car. She knew he couldn’t really afford to part with five grand, but he’d wanted to do it. And now she had Flora, she understood how, as a parent, you would make any sacrifice for your children. Besides, her father knew a bloke who was selling his wife’s runaround, and he knew it had been looked after from brand new. So here she was, bowling along the road out of Eldenbury with Flora in a child seat that her mother had bought from the local paper and steam-cleaned until it looked like new, in a car that had ‘one careful lady owner’ written all over it, when what she was used to was a motor that screamed ‘reckless speed freak’.
But, as she reminded herself, that
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