swept up to us in a flourish of gauzy pink and swirls of ermine.
“Dear, dear Ellie! So beautiful! Although possibly a little too thin! And Bentley, handsome as ever!”
“Hated to take me off the books, didn’t you?” He grinned at her and received another squeeze.
“I cannot tell you how delighted I was to be included in this joyous culmination of that day, Ellie, when you came to Eligibility.”
Everything about her—the grandmotherly perfume, her energetic kindness—brought back the rainy afternoon when I had sat in her powder puff office and begged her to find me Mr. Right.
“We must have a long talk at the reception.”
“I wish, dear, but I’ve a granddaughter expecting a baby any second and have promised to be available to boil water. No choice but to leave at once and …” She paused. “Perhaps it is for the best. Someone is bound to ask me what my connection is to one or both of you and—”
Ben and I started to speak, but she shushed us.
“My dears, I am proud of the services offered by Eligibility Escorts and the work you did for me, Ben, but villages such as this are like the Whispering Gallery at St. Paul’s. And considering today’s practical joke … My advice is don’t let on how you really met. Say a fond aunt introduced you.”
Rain began coming down in splotches. Mrs. Swabucher’s chauffeur appeared with an umbrella.
“You both take care of yourselves,” she said. “We don’t want you catching colds. Speaking of health matters, you don’t patronize that awful Dr. Bordeaux, do you? I didn’t bring you darlings together to have anything happen to either of you. And now, take me away, James.” She tucked an arm through that of her chauffeur and was gone.
What people remained in the churchyard started turning up collars and unfurling umbrellas, fast-trotting to the cars. I heard Uncle Maurice and Aunt Lulu urging Jill to accompany them in their vehicle. Oh, cripes! They must think her relationship with son Freddy was serious, thereby making her good for a loan of at least twenty pounds.
“We can’t have Jonas getting wet,” I said to Ben, but I needn’t have worried. Dorcas, camera case slung around her neck, was buttoning Jonas up at the neck. Rowland was less lucky. In a voice that cut through the wind, Aunt Astrid assured him that she would see him at the reception.
“Won’t we, Vannie?”
“I hope so, Mummy.”
The wind heightened to a hard shrill whistle, echoedby the sea breaking against the cliffs below. The sky went suddenly quite dark.
“Home,” urged Ben, but as we stepped onto the gravel path, three teenagers, lurking behind tombstones, came scampering up, laughing and pelting us with confetti. It was, I thought, rather like being inside a kaleidoscope.
“Better wed than dead!” yelled a burly girl in school uniform.
The dizzying swirl ebbed. A boy with stubble hair grabbed for my hand and, amazingly, kissed it. Rain made some of the brilliant patches stick to our faces. Another multi-coloured shower went up and when the air cleared, the kids went roistering off toward the church hall which abutted the vicarage. All except one. A girl, the smallest of the group, remained on the path. We stared at each other through a shimmer of rain.
“I must look like I’ve got some exotic form of measles,” I said.
“You do realise this sort of thing is against the law.” Ben was shaking out his jacket.
Perhaps she didn’t realise we were joking. She didn’t smile. She had sandy-coloured plaits, a small retroussé nose, a wedge-shaped face, and skin which seemed almost translucent under the sheen of rain. She kept staring at Ben and me. A bit spooky, considering the tombstone surroundings. This girl’s eyes were very green in the wavering half-light, eyes at odds with the two youthful plaits. Those plaits touched me. I found myself remembering myself at fourteen—always the outsider. On an impulse, I tossed my bouquet to her.
“I love you,
“Dear, dear Ellie! So beautiful! Although possibly a little too thin! And Bentley, handsome as ever!”
“Hated to take me off the books, didn’t you?” He grinned at her and received another squeeze.
“I cannot tell you how delighted I was to be included in this joyous culmination of that day, Ellie, when you came to Eligibility.”
Everything about her—the grandmotherly perfume, her energetic kindness—brought back the rainy afternoon when I had sat in her powder puff office and begged her to find me Mr. Right.
“We must have a long talk at the reception.”
“I wish, dear, but I’ve a granddaughter expecting a baby any second and have promised to be available to boil water. No choice but to leave at once and …” She paused. “Perhaps it is for the best. Someone is bound to ask me what my connection is to one or both of you and—”
Ben and I started to speak, but she shushed us.
“My dears, I am proud of the services offered by Eligibility Escorts and the work you did for me, Ben, but villages such as this are like the Whispering Gallery at St. Paul’s. And considering today’s practical joke … My advice is don’t let on how you really met. Say a fond aunt introduced you.”
Rain began coming down in splotches. Mrs. Swabucher’s chauffeur appeared with an umbrella.
“You both take care of yourselves,” she said. “We don’t want you catching colds. Speaking of health matters, you don’t patronize that awful Dr. Bordeaux, do you? I didn’t bring you darlings together to have anything happen to either of you. And now, take me away, James.” She tucked an arm through that of her chauffeur and was gone.
What people remained in the churchyard started turning up collars and unfurling umbrellas, fast-trotting to the cars. I heard Uncle Maurice and Aunt Lulu urging Jill to accompany them in their vehicle. Oh, cripes! They must think her relationship with son Freddy was serious, thereby making her good for a loan of at least twenty pounds.
“We can’t have Jonas getting wet,” I said to Ben, but I needn’t have worried. Dorcas, camera case slung around her neck, was buttoning Jonas up at the neck. Rowland was less lucky. In a voice that cut through the wind, Aunt Astrid assured him that she would see him at the reception.
“Won’t we, Vannie?”
“I hope so, Mummy.”
The wind heightened to a hard shrill whistle, echoedby the sea breaking against the cliffs below. The sky went suddenly quite dark.
“Home,” urged Ben, but as we stepped onto the gravel path, three teenagers, lurking behind tombstones, came scampering up, laughing and pelting us with confetti. It was, I thought, rather like being inside a kaleidoscope.
“Better wed than dead!” yelled a burly girl in school uniform.
The dizzying swirl ebbed. A boy with stubble hair grabbed for my hand and, amazingly, kissed it. Rain made some of the brilliant patches stick to our faces. Another multi-coloured shower went up and when the air cleared, the kids went roistering off toward the church hall which abutted the vicarage. All except one. A girl, the smallest of the group, remained on the path. We stared at each other through a shimmer of rain.
“I must look like I’ve got some exotic form of measles,” I said.
“You do realise this sort of thing is against the law.” Ben was shaking out his jacket.
Perhaps she didn’t realise we were joking. She didn’t smile. She had sandy-coloured plaits, a small retroussé nose, a wedge-shaped face, and skin which seemed almost translucent under the sheen of rain. She kept staring at Ben and me. A bit spooky, considering the tombstone surroundings. This girl’s eyes were very green in the wavering half-light, eyes at odds with the two youthful plaits. Those plaits touched me. I found myself remembering myself at fourteen—always the outsider. On an impulse, I tossed my bouquet to her.
“I love you,
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