Tomorrow's Bride Read online

  'Three weeks?' She shook her head in total if regretful dismissal of his idea. Men were so impatient, with no idea of what was involved in arranging these things. 'It's just impossible, Patrick. It wouldn't be the kind of wedding your family or mine would expect...'

  'It's our wedding, yours and mine, not our families'. What we want is important too. The other things are peripheral. We needn't send out invitations—just ring our friends and tell them about the time and place. You can go out and buy a dress, I'll order cases of champagne and lots of caviare, and-----'

  ‘I’m sure your brothers would be thrilled to be offered little biscuits and blobs of caviare. I do remember they all had pretty healthy appetites. Besides, I loathe caviare.' She uncoiled herself at last from the hammock, stood up, and slipped her arms about his neck. 'You know...' she wriggled in pleasure as his hands spread across her back, pulling her possessively close '...you are quite, quite crazy.'

  But the breathless accusation was stifled as his mouth covered hers, and it was some considerable time before he answered.

  'I am,' he agreed, 'quite crazy for you. Always have been. And tell you what-----' the teasing look reminded her that she had laughter to look forward to as well as all the tender, sensual joys ' —if you care to go and put on the ballgown you wore at the reception, I'll take you out for dinner and propose all over again, and you can go fault with the shock of it all. That's how I had it all planned, that night in Paris when I lay in the dark beside you.'

  'Quite, quite mad,' she said regretfully. 'You do remember that I flew home from Strasbourg and why? It was to recover from a broken heart, and I certainly did not visualise any occasion for wearing that very elaborate dress. I didn't plan to trail round the vicarage, acting Miss Havisham.'

  'What you're saying is that the dress is still in your flat?'

  'Exactly. But I do have a fairly presentable cotton dress I've worn just once.'

  'I'm not so sure I'll fancy you in that, not when I'd set my heart on that blue one with the jazzy little bolero. You know, I felt completely knocked out when you turned round that night. I couldn't believe it at first; I thought I must be in the middle of a hallucination. I even liked that mad hairdo you had then. Maybe,' he hazarded, 'you could wear both for our wedding? It would save you the trouble of buying another dress.'

  'No.' She shook her head definitely. 'I don't think so. It'll have to be something off the peg, but it's going to be completely traditional. Not white, perhaps, but----' her face had a dreamy look '—cream. Or ivory. I suppose even those aren't entirely appropriate, but... no one will know except us that I'm not...'

  'Shh.' Frowning, he put his fingers over her lips. 'You are. Of course you are. More than any other woman I know. And if it helps to ease your conscience, for everyone's sake I think we should agree—and you must know it's the last thing in the world I want—that it would be best if we made up our minds to be extremely... decorous till the knot is tied.'

  She giggled and caught at his hands. 'Well, if you would stop doing that, we might have a chance.' A vibrant, breathless smile was directed towards him. 'And something else—it might be a good idea if we went and told Dad our news, see which days are available for the wedding. And I think we ought to forget about going out to dinner. I made a perfectly reasonable casserole which we can have, and besides, I think we ought to start ringing round. I must contact Mum in New Zealand and you'll have to let them all know in Loughskerrie.' Her expression changed, grew a little more serious. 'I wonder what they'll think of it all?'

  'What they'll think I can tell you right now: What took you so long? That's what they'll want to know. They still ask about you from time to time, and Fergal, when he wants to be particularly awkward, tells me I was a fool to let you slip through my fingers.'

  'I hope you're telling me the truth, but come on.' Taking his hand, she began to pull him towards the house. 'Dad must be dying with curiosity. Oh, I think maybe it's going to be fun getting ready in such a rush—only hope Mum agrees with me. Oh, Patrick.' Suddenly she stopped, turned to him, her expression thoughtful. 'Thank you. For turning my life round in this fantastic way. I'm still half inclined to think I'm in a dream. An hour or two ago I was so utterly miserable and then you appeared. It's magic.'

  'Leigh.' His hand smoothed her hair, then held her head against his chest. 'I wish I could wipe out all the misery. But with all my heart-----' now the deep voice was deliberately lighter '—I promise to do better for the rest of our lives.'

  'You'd better.' Infected by the threatened laughter, she raised her head to study his face. 'Positively no more Gillian Places. You do realise that, I hope?'

  'Ah, yes.' He frowned. 'Now, there's a name you mentioned once before, though at the time I couldn't place it. It was just the other day I remembered. She was a nurse, I think, who was at one time down to join the group for Ashala, but in the end she was transferred to another project—in South India, I think. I heard she married one of the doctors there.'

  'But...' Anguish stabbed at Leigh as she reflected on the effect of that name through the years. 'I thought...' Abruptly she stopped, reassessing things in her mind.

  'Yes?' he prompted. 'You thought? What did you think, Leigh?'

  'One day, in Oxford, I met Debbie Fleetham. You won't deny you knew her, I suppose?' she asked a little waspishly.

  'No, I'd be crazy to deny that.' He spoke so reasonably that she felt ashamed.

  'I wasn't accusing you,' she said, with so little truth that they both grinned and he raised a questioning eyebrow. 'Well, maybe just a little. You see, I've always been wildly jealous of Gillian Place ever since...'

  'You had no need. But you were saying you met Debbie Fleetham one day...'

  'And she told me...' Frowning, she tried to recall the exact wording used. '"She-----" Gillian Place, that was "—she's off to Bangladesh with Patrick Cavour; they must be in New York by this time." Oh, and she said something about it being romantic.'

  'And you believed her?'

  'Yes.' Now even she could hardly understand why she had been so credulous. 'I suppose at the time I was vulnerable, not entirely logical.'

  'Yes, well, I know the feeling.' He sighed. 'As far as Gillian Place is concerned I think she might have been on the same flight, but I couldn't be sure. I don't think I can even put a name to the face. Or vice versa.'

  'A beautiful blonde with a stunning figure, according to Debbie,' she put in helpfully.

  'Ah, but there were so many answering to that description.'

  'So long,' she replied to his teasing, 'as there are none in the future.'

  'Anyway, Debbie was most likely just showing her claws. Remember I told you we went out once or twice in a group? Before her birthday party...'

  'Yes, you did tell me that. I suppose it should have occurred to me at the time that she was most likely a bit jealous.'

  'Ah, well, we all know about that, don't we? But, while we're on the subject, there have to be no more intimate dinners with roués like your employer.'

  'Intimate, did you say? Fat chance of that with you around, but, in any case, it was entirely platonic, as I've told you several times.'

  'Yes, it looked like it from where I was standing on the river-walk—the two of you locked in a close embrace.'

  'I promise it wasn't the least bit like that. He was comforting me because he could see I was so miserable after-----'

  'Comforting himself quite a lot, I should say.'

  'After seeing you with Inés da Silva,' she said reprovingly.

  'Ah, yes. Inés. And did he know why he was comforting you?'

  'I didn't tell him, but he might have guessed. I imagine the vibes were pretty strong that night, and we know he is a very sensitive man.' She spoke sardonically. 'Anyway, he was particularly sweet; he knew I was unhappy and did his best to help. I hope you notice that I'm not the least bit curious about your date with Ines.'

  'Who might just turn out to be a relative of mine.' He was poker-faced.

>   'Tell me another,' she scoffed. 'As I was about to say, when I first met Inés at the reception—the one where you treated me with such disdain...' When she giggled he paused dramatically, then continued. 'While you pretended to have difficulty placing me in your long list of lovers, Inés, on the other hand, was very interested in my-----'

  'I bet she was.'

  'Must you keep interrupting? Now I remember it always was one of your more irritating habits. No, don't do that.' He caught the fist which had been aiming for his chin. 'Don't do that,' he repeated, and they stared intently at each other for a moment, eyes sparkling. 'Not,' he warned, 'unless you're prepared to take the consequences. Interested in my name, I was about to say.' Suddenly his composure cracked, he was grinning, and a moment later they were both laughing helplessly.

  'Your... your name?'

  'Apparently her mother is a Cavour, and they trace their family back to the conquistadores, so...'

  Leigh made a great show of treating the matter seriously. 'So there's quite a chance that it was one of her family who set off in 1588, missed his way and ended up in Loughskerrie?'

  'More than likely, I should say.’ He grinned, and instantly they were both shaking with laughter again, both revelling in the amiable, light-hearted sparring which had added such spice to then: relationship from the beginning.

  With an effort Leigh concentrated on what he was saying. 'She's a very attractive woman, Inés, if-----'

  'Oh, yes, a lot of men have thought so.'

  'If you like that type, but I've always preferred a more willowy shape...'

  'Tell me, Patrick-----' it seemed appropriate to ask, when she was so warmly gathered against him '—did you have any idea when you came to Strasbourg that I was-----?'

  'Not the slightest.' He was so definite that she knew she had been fooling herself from the beginning. 'But I think that, quite without knowing it, I had been looking out for you over the years— searching rooms when I went to parties, looking up expectantly when I heard a certain type of voice. Deep down I don’t think I ever accepted that we wouldn’t meet again, but I lost contact with most of our friends when I was in Ashala, and besides, I convinced myself that you would have married by this time, and I had no intention of rocking the boat for you.’

  'Oh.' Such a carbon copy of her own experience was hardly surprising...

  'Tell you what, though.' Twisting round in his arms, she observed his slightly guilty expression as he spoke. 'I do have one confession.' Her raised eyebrow encouraged him to continue. 'The flight that day to Paris—it wasn't entire coincidence. I met Kyle in the corridor and something he said gave me a clue. From there it wasn't difficult to discover which flight you were on. And yes, I did persuade the girl at the check-in desk to arrange for me to have the seat next to you. Though for all the good it did me... You were quite unspeakable.'

  She giggled, and blushed with as much coyness as a fulsome compliment might have produced. 'I was, wasn't I? But you flirted outrageously with the stewardess so you deserved it.'

  'And you dismissed my invitation to dinner as if I had the plague. And then,' he remembered with indignation, 'as I was getting out of the lift, I met Kyle on his way up to your room. And now you're surprised that I drew certain conclusions!'

  'I was and I am.' Standing on tiptoe, she spoke with her mouth against his. 'But, since you apologised for all your unfair accusations, I've made up my mind to forgive you for causing me so much pain. Besides, you weren't to know that he had Anna hidden discreetly away in his taxi-cab.'

  'Magnanimous of you, I'm sure. But now-----' he frowned '—I suppose there are one or two things we ought to sort out. Your flat, for one. I suppose you'll want to go over to Strasbourg and collect your things and-----?'

  'Either that,' she put in innocently, 'or you could give up yours. It's perfectly possible to commute daily to Paris.'

  'Is it?' There was the faintest of smiles on his face as he looked down at her. 'The problem is, a lot of my work means travelling world-wide, and I expect whenever possible that you should go with me—in the early days at least.' His meaning was so clear that she felt herself grow warm, and deliberately looked down to hide the evidence.

  'But... I did think I might just hang on to my job for a bit. After all, most people do these days.'

  'No chance.' That was categoric enough. 'I haven't found you again simply to settle for an arm's-length marriage. I'm earning enough to keep us both in reasonable comfort, and if you do find you have time on your hands there will be plenty of organisations who will jump at the chance of using your skills.'

  'So...it's come to this. I'm to give up my tinpot job in favour of ironing your shirts...'

  'A much more worthwhile occupation.' He grinned and it was impossible for her to stop her own mouth curving in response. 'You know what I think of most politicians. And I can see-----' now there was a speculative expression in his dark eyes '—that that expression still rankles...'

  'It does.' She aimed a playful punch at his shoulder, frowned when he grimaced as if in pain. 'But it rankled even more when I discovered just how futile it all was. You know, I never did discover what happened to all the immaculate reports I produced for them. Went in the shredder, I expect.'

  'My poor darling. What a depressing experience for your first job.' He kissed the tip of her nose. 'How much more satisfying if you had come with me to Ashala. Teaching basic hygiene and helping to care for abandoned children might not have had the same cachet but, I promise you, it would have been much more worthwhile. Besides which, we would have been together.'

  'Yes.' A shadow crossed her face. 'Yes, and to think that if it hadn't been for that chance meeting with Debbie Fleetham I would have followed you. I had decided to swallow my pride and ask you to find a place for me...'

  'Pride.' He sighed, and his arms tightened about her. 'I had more than my share too. I should have carried you off by force when you didn't agree to come voluntarily. I would do that now if you were to show any sign of changing your mind, so...'

  'As I think I told you, no chance.' She laid her head on his chest, but almost immediately began to detach herself. 'Heavens.' She was blushing again. 'I just caught sight of Dad at the kitchen window. I keep forgetting about him, but we'd better go and tell him. I only hope the shock isn't too much for him.'

  But when they went into the kitchen, eyes glowing, fingers entwined, though he went through all the familiar expressions of surprise and pleasure, Leigh had the impression that the news was not quite the bombshell they had anticipated.

  CHAPTER TEN

  WHEN she reached the lych-gate of the Norman church and found it barred, the bride paused, exhibiting mock-dismay, then smiled appealingly to the children enacting the old tradition. But it was only after corns had changed hands that the seven-year-old girl began to untie the gate. 'Thank you, Caroline.' Leigh paused, knowing the girl would be anxious afterwards to give a detailed report of the dress, and besides, she had known her all of her life.

  'You look just...lovely, Leigh.' The child spoke shyly, while the others murmured agreement.

  'And that's a remark I have to agree with.' Her father waited as she gathered up the skirt of her gown and stepped on to the flagged path curving through the churchyard towards the porch. 'I think I'm safe to say I've never seen a prettier bride.'

  'Not that you're at all biased,' she teased gently to hide her emotions. 'I bet every father who has walked up here with his daughter has said the very same thing.' She gave his arm a tiny squeeze, which in its quiet way was an acknowledgement of the shift in their relationship. 'Not that I'm complaining, and...I'm glad you're giving me away. It wouldn't have felt right going up the aisle on someone else's arm.'

  'Well, the archdeacon adds something which a mere parish priest cannot, and when he's your godfather as well... And you do know how pleased we are, your mother and I, that you're marrying Patrick, don't you? You seem so right for each other. In fact, we thought that the first time you brought him
to meet us, quite a long time ago. We expected wedding-bells right then, but I suppose...you were too young at that time.'

  There were few such perfect days in early autumn. The village was looking its best, the church, so typically English, nestling among trees all changing colour, blazing gold and rust in the warm sunshine. The light had even penetrated the interior of the church, gleaming gently through the stained glass, casting a mellow glow on the packed congregation.

  In the porch the three bridesmaids were waiting; the adult was Patrick's sister, Grainne, and the other two were the eight-year-old twin daughters of Leigh's cousin. All were excited and pretty in dresses of cream silk patterned all over with tiny sprigs of flowers.

  'Now.' Mrs Gray, churchwarden and general organiser of village affairs, gave a signal. 'She's ready for you now. Off you go and good luck.' Which was what she had been saying to brides for the past twenty years. The music of Wagner's 'Bridal March' began rather wheezily on the organ and Leigh Gregory started at last on the short journey which would transform her into Leigh Cavour.

  There he was, at the far end in front of the altar, waiting for her. She could see the back of his head, Mir immaculately cut, and beside him, not quite so tall but almost as handsome, his brother Fergal. Both were incredibly distinguished in morning dress.

  The front pews were packed—on the one side with Cavours, Gregorys on the other. It was impossible to miss her mother's hat, that enormous affair in dusky pink, abundantly swathed with veiling. How she had enjoyed choosing it.

  That had been something of a surprise, discovering how her mother had thrown herself into the rushed preparations with a zest which had been sorely lacking in past years. It was as if she had taken on an entirely fresh lease of life and was relishing the challenge. For example, the day they had spent hunting for the dress, she had refused to allow Leigh to settle for something entirely adequate in the first shop, had selected from a whole row the one she imagined would be perfect for her daughter.