Tomorrow's Bride(17)

       
           



       

She gave a last confirming glance towards the hotel mirror, checking her  seams were straight, her make-up as good as she could manage. In fact  she had been rather light-handed-just a flick of powder, a touch of  lipstick, a little more positive with the eyes, wide and luminous  beneath the veil, her eyelids shadowy with a colour which called itself  Wild Sloe... She turned away impatiently, suspicious of such unusual  self-regard, then, almost defiantly, blasted herself with some new  perfume, adjusted the hat fractionally and left.

Arriving at Holly's flat, she was enveloped by a whirl of friends and  relatives. She wished, not for the first time, that she had persisted  with her original plan to meet up with them at the church. It would have  been as easy to take her taxi there instead, simpler for everyone,  and...

'So we've arranged for Patrick to take you to the church, Leigh.'

'What?' About to sip from the coffee-cup which had been thrust into her  hand, Leigh looked at her friend in consternation. 'But Holly...'

'No buts. I promise you, he doesn't mind a bit. He's an absolute  sweetie, and when we asked of course he said yes. A quick glance in the  mirror might give some explanation for such an attitude. But now, have  we covered every point? When we reach the font I hand Pauli over to you,  and then...'

Leigh released her mind into a fevered spin, entirely oblivious of all  the finer points of the day's ceremony which Holly was so painstakingly  itemising. She must just rely on past experience to take her safely  through the ceremony. It was so obvious now-all the recent days when she  had been struggling to keep calm, Holly, it seemed, had been doing her  best to undermine her resolve... had been busy with all sorts of plans.  It was hard to excuse such persistent disloyalty from one she had  previously regarded as a friend. Couldn't she see the kind of threat...?

'Good, then that's all clear. Now, we'd better think about getting  off-the last thing we want is to be late.' Holly giggled excitedly. I'll  just give Patrick a ring, let him know you're waiting, then see if  Pauli is ready for his big occasion.'

And, of course-wouldn't you know it?-he-Patrick, that was-was enough to knock your eyes out.

In an effort to simplify matters Leigh had taken to the corridor,  walking up and down in a desperate search for calm-very difficult when  memories of her last time in the building would keep intruding. So many  disturbing images would not keep to the shadows where they belonged.

Then came the soft whirr of machinery, a jolt in her stomach like the  kick from a mule, the clunk of opening doors... She felt light-headed,  slightly sick; her neck was much too weak to support the weight of that  ridiculous hat, and her heart quite simply turned over in her chest when  he stepped out and they stood looking at each other.

And she, stricken with panic, tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth,  was unable to do more than contemplate. And admire. Reluctantly. But it  would have been impossible to do otherwise.

Perfectly tailored suit-conservative, as she would have expected for a  formal occasion-dark grey, but relieved from dullness by a faint red  stripe, white shirt and dashing tie in tiny black and white check. In  the buttonhole he wore a single pink rose. Just like-the recollection  caught at her heart-like the one he had worn that other night in Oxford.  Not, of course, that it would have been intended as a reminder.

Aware of being caught gazing, afraid that her appreciation might have  been blatantly displayed, she summoned a strained and  deter-mined-to-be-casual smile. 'Patrick. Sorry to impose on you yet  again. I gather you've been appointed to act as my chauffeur. You must  be tiring of that role.'

To that there was no reply, certainly none of the automatic denial which  common courtesy demanded. Merely a raised eyebrow-might that be an  accusation of hypocrisy?-a faint smile and a glance at his watch. Just a  glimpse of heavy gold cuff-links and she had an urge, foolish but  incredibly powerful, simply to touch the back of his hand, to feel the  spring of hair under her fingertips...

'We ought to be off. Beat the rush.' A gesture ushered her ahead of him  into the lift and a moment later they were dropping silently to the  underground garage.

It was a quiet car journey too, although his naturally impeccable  manners were in evidence. The door was held open for her-he appeared not  even to notice her embarrassment as she struggled with the skirt rising  way above her knees-and the seatbelt was dealt with before the door was  firmly slammed shut.                       
       
           



       

There were one or two remarks about the lightness of the Sunday traffic,  about the type of car he was driving, but it was just minutes before  they were parking in the quiet square, climbing the wide flight of steps  to the church. She felt another quiver in the pit of her stomach when  his fingers grazed her bare elbow as he guided her into the quiet  serenity of the ancient building. Afterwards, all her recollections of  the ceremony were bound up with Patrick Cavour. The central purpose of  the day dissolved into the recesses of her mind, although it was a great  relief afterwards to discover that she had done what was required of  her, adequately if not impeccably. But when she took the infant into her  arms, smoothing the extravagantly fringed shawl, it was Patrick's  concentrated attention she was aware of, into his sombre intent eyes  that she looked each time she raised her head... Had he noticed? she  wondered. Whenever she flicked back her lashes they touched the veil,  causing a tiny nervy throb... and for some reason her heart was racing  too-wildly, loudly so that she was hah7 convinced that the entire  congregation must hear and be wondering-and her legs were weak, so weak  that she thought they might give way from sheer emotion. And if they  did, what would happen? she speculated. Would Patrick perhaps attempt a  saving dive for the infant, reaching him just in time? Once at a varsity  rugger match she had seen him successfully scoop the ball and go on to  make a winning try...

Please-she raised expressive eyes to .look at him across the font-please  help me. And, as if he understood, his expression softened, grew  encouraging-at least, she imagined so-as she heard her own voice, in  response to the queries from the American pastor, giving the expected  answers.

Then it was his turn. Pauli was transferred by his mother from Leigh's  arms to Patrick's and no one, seeing the expert way he settled the child  in the crook of his arm, the soothing way he patted him when for an  instant the child seemed unsettled, could fail to be impressed. And  deeply affected. Then the voice, firm and confident, with the same  promise that would always send shivers down her spine.

When his eyes returned to hers guilty colour stained her skin as she  realised for the first time, how intent, maybe even hungry, her manner  had been, and that was all to do with the dream her mind had been fixed  on. No, not that other one, though there was an indisputable connection;  this was a daydream in which, had things worked out differently, they  were at their own child's christening. For a few delicious moments she  had been back at Loughskerrie, in that lovely Georgian house, and  surrounded by all those exuberant, friendly Cavours, with his parents  and hers celebrating the baptism of a grandchild.

The pain of it, and the joy, was a torment. Numbly she watched as he  handed the child back to his mother, and the dream faded simultaneously.  She and Patrick returned to their seats, and they even shared a prayer  book for the final responses, his voice firm and melodious, hers, to her  own ears, thin and shaky, wholly lacking in confidence.

There was relief in getting back to the flat and the buffet luncheon  produced by caterers. There she could quite easily detach herself; she  need never speak another word to him If that was how she felt, not even  goodbye, though that would be easy, she decided balefully. She was free  to mingle, to chat and laugh with other guests, to enjoy herself, for  heaven's sake, which was surely one of the purposes of the occasion and  which she hadn't done so far, thanks to him. It was even possible that  then* views on that would coincide.

And as it happened there were several men present who seemed more than  willing to help her do just that. One in particular, an American who  told her he had been at college with Paul, insisted on exchanging  telephone numbers with her, in spite of the fact that she couldn't  summon the energy to offer any encouragement.

Possibly that was because she was too interested in what was happening  at the other side of the room, where Patrick, lounging against the wall  directly in her line of vision, seemed to have appropriated the two most  attractive women present for his own personal pleasure. And theirs-she  determined to be fair. Oh, yes, and theirs.