‘Oh wake up!’ Sam snapped suddenly, rising from his chair. Molly and Hester both stared at him in confusion. ‘Don’t either of you have the intelligence to see past his pretty face? It doesn’t surprise me that Hester’s been fooled, but Mol, I always thought you were more perceptive. Torquil Jensen would be more suited to one of those crass American soap operas. What is it you girls used to watch? Dallas? In a language you both understand, he’s no Bobby Ewing!’ And with that he left the room.
The two sisters blinked at each other in amazement. ‘Have I missed something here?’ said Molly, putting down her mug.
Hester shrugged her shoulders. ‘If you have, Mol, then I certainly have,’ she replied, baffled.’ ‘What has Dallas got to do with Fede’s wedding?’
‘Torquil Jensen might be many things, but he’s no JR either.’ She sniffed angrily. ‘How dare he accuse me of lacking perception. God damn him, he’s always believed himself to be cleverer than everyone else.’
‘He might be cleverer than Torquil, but Torquil’s got all the beauty,’ Hester giggled.
‘That’s obviously what’s got under Sam’s skin. It’s all about hair,’ Molly laughed scornfully. ‘Sam’s losing his and Torquil's got plenty!’
Sam sat stiffly in the pew, ignoring Joey who quietly played with Mr Toad, having finally forced his surrender in the dog bowl. He watched the conceited profile of the groom with silent loathing. Torquil whispered to his best man, their heads inclined together like a couple of conspirators. Unable to bear the torment that sight evoked, he turned his eyes to the vast arrangements of white and yellow flowers and across to the other side of the aisle where Torquil’s grand friends sat under ostentatious hats, glancing warily about them at what must have appeared a very parochial scene. Reverend Boyble rushed about importantly, bowing low to the altar every time he passed in front of it. Finally, Torquil’s father and stepmother appeared and walked down the aisle with great ceremony. Sam took one look at Mrs Jensen’s hat and thought of the Quangle Wangle Quee. He shook his head at the vulgarity of it and caught Nuno’s eye. His grandfather smiled wryly and scribbled something down on a bit of paper, then passed it to Lucien, who passed it to Ingrid, who leant across her distracted youngest and handed it to Sam. He opened it and laughed out loud. Nuno had read his thoughts exactly for he had quoted from the same poem by Edward Lear: ‘And the Golden Grouse came there, and the Pobble who has no toes and the small Olympian bear, and the Dong with a luminous nose ... all
came and built on the lovely Hat of the Quangle Wangle Quee.'
Buff Jensen sat in the pew behind his son. He was a large man with a wide forehead and thinning black hair combed back and set with wax to give the impression that he had more than he did. His eyes were pale and imperious, set in smooth skin unblemished by the usual lines of humour. Buff rarely smiled. He was too aware of his own importance and the need to show it. Torquil turned around and grinned at his father, a grin that betrayed his triumph as well as his genuine pride. Buff had hoped for a better match for his son and relinquishing control was hard for him to accept. But this small battle Torquil had won. Cynthia only saw the pride in her stepson’s smile. He was marrying the girl he loved, there was no doubt about that. She had liked his little bride very much. Had she been a stronger character she might have felt competitive, but Federica would make the perfect daughter-in-law - provided one managed to forget where she came from.
After a short pause Federica’s family made their way to their seats with less ceremony than the Jensens. Helena wore a pink suit with a pillar-box hat to match and Polly wore red - they obviously hadn’t planned their outfits
together. When Helena saw the vast expanse of Mrs Jensen’s creation she winced with rivalry and wished she had had the courage to wear something bigger. She also caught herself longing for Ramon - Arthur’s unimposing presence impressed no one. When Mrs Hammond’s hesitant fingers alighted on the keyboard, the idle chat was reduced to an expectant silence as everyone stood up and looked behind them to catch the first glimpse of the bride.
Federica hovered momentarily under the archway at the entrance of the church, before stepping out of the sun into the soft light of the nave. Sam was suddenly gripped with regret. He stood as still as marble, the blood drained from his stunned face, and felt the sharp claws of love tighten about his heart. It was as if the world had frozen around him, only Federica moved slowly towards him with the unearthly countenance of an angel. He barely dared breathe. It was only when Mr Toad escaped Joey’s grip and sprung onto the wooden bench behind him before leaping into the aisle that Sam was shaken from his trance and realized to his despair that Federica wasn’t walking towards him but away from him. She was walking way beyond his reach and he only had himself to blame. The clouds parted in his memory and he pictured their tender kisses