‘How are you enjoying married life?’ Emma asked Audrey as they found each other on their way out of the church. It was an awkward question for Emma sensed that Audrey had shelved her dreams and bowed to convention because she noticed that she smiled only on the surface of her face. Audrey clutched her neat handbag with gloved hands and tried not to look at the wooden pew at the back of the church which always reminded her of Louis.
‘Lovely, thank you,’ she replied. ‘This church has seen so many weddings, if one could see through the eyes of this building one would see the constant cycle of births, weddings, death. It reminds me of my own mortality.’ Emma thought of Isla and looked across at Audrey with the deepest sympathy.
‘Churches remind me of uncontrollable school giggles, a devastatingly handsome missionary who tried to teach us about God but only served to raise our blood pressure and the time I was a bridesmaid and hid under the altar cloth in fear until the wedding was over and a funeral in full flow.’
Audrey laughed and Emma was pleased that she had lightened their conversation.
‘How did you escape?’
‘I didn’t. I was found by my father, trembling in the dark, convinced that I would go to Hell.’
‘You’ve redeemed yourself since then,’ Audrey remarked, ‘Thomas has made an honest woman out of you.’
‘Yes,’ she sighed, then added in a whisper, ‘he has, but sometimes I rather wish he hadn’t. When you think of your own mortality, doesn’t it make you desire to live on your impulses, the way you truly want to live, not the way other people want you to live?’ Audrey looked at Emma and recognized the amber light of resignation in her eyes, making them look suddenly sad and defeated.
‘We aren’t masters of our own destinies after all,’ she replied carefully. ‘As a child I believed I could be whatever I wanted to be.’
‘And you’re not?’
‘Not entirely. But I’m happy,’ she added quickly, glancing over at Cecil who waited for her at the door. ‘Marriage is a wonderful thing and you’ve got a child.’
‘Yes, Robert, I’m truly blessed.’
‘You are,’ Audrey replied, smiling at her husband who waved at her.
‘Cecil’s so handsome and charming, you know, when you married him you were the envy of every woman in Hurlingham, married or not.’
‘I can’t believe that.’
‘You were and still are. Everyone loves Cecil. Whatever did happen to Louis?’
‘I don’t know.’ Audrey shrugged and looked away for fear that Emma would read her expression and know that she too loved another. ‘He sailed away and was never heard of again.’
‘Really?’
‘I think so.’
‘Cecil hasn’t even heard from him?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I hope he’s found happiness somewhere nice. I always found him rather intriguing. He was a genius, quite misunderstood. Did you ever hear him play the piano?’
Audrey nodded. ‘Why don’t you walk with us to the Club? Isn’t it lovely that the weather has changed and spring is here?’
‘Yes, isn’t it. I’ll go and get Thomas, I think he needs rescuing, he’s talking to Diana Lewis and Phyllida Bates. They always manage to corner him and poor Thomas is too polite to walk away.’
‘I’ve asked Emma and Thomas Letton to walk with us to the Club,’ said Audrey, rejoining her husband.
‘Wasn’t she the one who created that huge scandal all those years ago by falling in love with an Argentine boy?’
‘Yes, but she’s happily married to Thomas now.’
‘Of course, those sort of infatuations never last.’
‘No.’ Audrey sighed and thought how little he understood the hearts of women.
They walked back up the roads strewn with violet petals from the jacaranda trees, breathing in the rich scents of gardenia and honeysuckle that had burst into flower with the warm weather and commenting on the wedding, which united them all in laughter. ‘Imagine the old Colonel, finally making it up the aisle,’ Thomas said in amusement.
‘Wasn’t he married before?’ asked Audrey.
‘Years ago, but she died,’ said Emma, raising her eyebrows suggestively.
‘Well, that’s something they both have in common. I wonder who’ll outlive who,’ said Thomas.
‘I have a funny feeling that this time they’ll both want to go together,’ said Audrey. Cecil took her hand in his and chuckled.
‘That’s typical of you, Audrey, ever the romantic.’
‘Emma’s a romantic too,’ said Thomas, grinning down at his wife with affection. ‘She must be the only person here who thinks that hateful Charlotte Osborne . . .’