More Than You Know (24 page)

“It’s dry rot. I did suspect it was there. But it’s one thing to think it, and another to actually confront it. Oh, Eliza, what are we going to do? The house will become uninhabitable in no time.”

“Has Mummy seen this?”

“No. I’ve just been chipping away at the skirting board. Silly, I know.”

He looked at her and a tear rolled slowly down his hollow cheek.

“Daddy! Darling Daddy, don’t cry. It’ll be all right, promise!”

“No, Eliza, it won’t. I just don’t see how we can carry on here.”

“What, you mean …” She could hardly get the words out. “You mean sell it? Daddy, no.”

“I—we—love this house so much, Eliza. It’s almost … Oh it’s absurd, I know—”

“As if it was a person. I know. I was thinking that very thing just now. A much-beloved, beautiful person. Part of our family, the heart of it, really. It would be impossible to say good-bye to it.”

“Darling one, I think we might have to. I’m afraid Summercourt is doomed. And maybe … well, maybe we can find someone who deserves her. Anyway, this is no time to discuss such things. She is all dressed up and ready to do her very best for us tomorrow. And she will be greatly admired and we can enjoy that. Now, none of this to Mummy. Not today. It would finish her off, I think.” He smiled. “She’s extremely anxious about everything.”

“I know. We’ll think of something, Daddy. Mummy’s wondering where you are, wants you to come down. Shall I tell her you’re still asleep?”

“No. Just give me a few minutes. Bless you, darling. Don’t say anything to anyone about all this, will you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Promise.”

It was almost seven when Charles arrived; he looked exhausted but cheerful.

“Sorry, everyone. I got held up in the office. Lot to do before I left.”

“Oh, well, I suppose we can’t be cross with you tonight. Juliet’s rung twice.”

“I’ll ring her in a minute. It’s been a bit of a week, you know.”

“Yes, of course. Your stag night on Wednesday—how did that go?”

“It was great. Jeremy was fantastic. Really good value. He organised most of it. You’ve got a good one there, Eliza.”

“He’s not mine,” she said irritably. People kept assuming that it was only a matter of time before she and Jeremy got engaged, and … he just didn’t seem anywhere near asking her. He hadn’t actually told her he loved her.

It was as if he was feeling his way and … well, that was all right. It wasn’t a decision you could—or should—make in a hurry.

And, actually, she felt a little bit the same. If he did ask her, then obviously she wouldn’t turn him down. Nobody would.

But what was the
but
? It hovered very vaguely in the background, but whenever she tried to analyse it, she couldn’t even work out what it was.

“I’d better go and ring Juliet,” Charles said. “Then I’ll have a good strong drink.”

The phone rang twice during supper; both times Eliza answered it, thinking it might be Jeremy. The first time it was Juliet; she sounded very intense. “Oh, Eliza, could I just speak to Charles, quickly. I’m sorry if you’re having supper. I just feel so … so emotional. I know he can calm me down.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m sure all brides must feel pretty emotional the night before their weddings anyway.”

“Well, yes, of course. But I have always been rather inclined to go
over the top. I can’t help it; it’s the way I’m made. Mummy’s the same, terribly oversensitive.”

“I’ll go and get him,” said Eliza quickly. She couldn’t be rude to Juliet tonight of all nights.

The second call was her again. “Sorry, Eliza, but could I speak to him again? Just to say good night, you know? You must think I’m awfully silly.”

“No, no, of course not,” said Eliza. She half expected Charles to be as irritated as she was, but he jumped up looking rather pleased. It must be love. No other explanation …

At quarter to ten, Charles stood up.

“Better turn in,” he said. “Believe I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Really?” said Sarah, smiling. “What’s that about then?”

The church looked wonderful, Sarah thought, huge urns of roses and white peonies on either side of the screen, wonderful arrangements of scabious and cow parsley on the windowsills, an inspiration of the local florist she had used, and white-ribboned bunches of sweetheart roses hung on the end of every pew. And a wonderful arch of white roses and moss over the church door to welcome people as they arrived.

She walked in with Adrian, smiling and nodding at such of the congregation as she knew—at least half, and there was no doubt about it: their half was so much better-looking and better dressed. She’d never seen so much brightly colored lace in her life as on the Judd side, including Carol’s suit, which was a pink that could only be described as hectic. And there were a lot of painfully ill-fitting and new-looking morning coats, obviously hired. Oh, dear, she did hope their friends would all understand.

Charles was sitting at the front, looking dreadfully nervous, but so handsome, and beside him dear Jeremy, calm, smiling, utterly at ease. He really did seem to adore Eliza, Sarah thought; maybe this weekend, maybe the magic of another wedding …

As she sat in the bridesmaids’ car, feeling pretty miserable really, waiting for Juliet to arrive, Eliza saw Matt. He looked nervous, on the edge
of the crowd, but pretty good, she thought; but then all men did in morning dress. What really engaged her rather miserable attention was the girl with him. Who was, quite simply, stunning. Quite small, long brown blond-streaked hair done in sort of Pre-Raphaelite waves, with a great cartwheel of a hat trimmed with a ribbon the same fabric as her Biba chiffon dress. She was, without doubt, the most stylish as well as one of the prettiest in the crowd outside the church. She was quite pale and enragingly cool-looking, with a tiny little tipped-up nose, the sort of nose Eliza had always longed for, and the most enormous grey eyes, and a very sexy mouth, and every so often she tapped Matt’s arm and reached up to whisper in his ear in that way very flirty girls did, and he would smile back at her and nod.

And here she was, dressed from neck to ankle in sickly pink frills, her face heating up to match it—with her ringlets, the twee little basket of flowers they all had to carry instead of ordinary posies and, worst of all, silver pumps. Silver! They were slightly too tight as well, and she could feel her feet swelling inside them already.

They hadn’t seen her yet, Matt and the girl, but they would, they would, and how, Eliza thought, was she going to get through the rest of the afternoon looking like she did, while that girl, that lovely girl, Matt’s coolly beautiful girlfriend, looked like she did?
Oh, stop it, Eliza
. What did it matter what Matt’s girlfriend thought of her? And what was it to her? Nothing, absolutely nothing.

The music was beautiful. Luckily Juliet had claimed that she had no ear for music (“I just know what I like”) and had agreed that Charles and Sarah should make the initial suggestions, “And then Mummy and I’ll make the final choice. She’s got much more of an ear than I have.”

So the music at least would not be commonplace, or even common.

It was all very … very nice really, Matt thought. He’d never been in such a pretty church in his life—well, he hadn’t been in many churches at all, come to that.

Everyone looked extremely smart, and although it was odd to see such a large gathering of people dressed identically, it was actually rather nice.

A really pretty woman came in dressed in pale lemon yellow, on
the arm of a rather fragile-looking old chap; they sat down just behind Charles. Must be the parents; Matt looked at them interestedly. They looked different from how he’d expected, had an air of gentleness and courtesy about them; they were joined shortly by another couple, who were more what he’d expected, embracing them rather exuberantly, with cries of “Lovely … wonderful … marvelous … so exciting.” The man was rather stout and red-faced, and the woman was tall and looked particularly imposing, dressed in dark red silk with a sort of turban hat and rows and rows of pearls round an indisputably wrinkly neck. Every so often she would jump up from her seat and rush to embrace someone in the aisle, braying (there was no other word for it), “Binky!” or “Rozzy!” and other such names.

“Must be a relative,” hissed Gina. “God, this is fun.”

And then the music paused, and then it changed, and everyone stood up, and the bride and her father stood in the doorway of the church, the light behind them, and the choir began to sing Vivaldi’s “Gloria,” and the magic that takes over a wedding—any wedding—began to do its work.