‘In that case, I think we should drop in at the forge, don’t you?’ Matty sighed.
At Fosbourne Holt House, the rows were starting to fill up, especially on Niall’s side of the hall where a large contingent of his raucous family was already ensconced, chattering, laughing and scrapping as they passed around sweets, hip-flasks and a creased copy of the
Sporting Life
. One uncle had already borrowed Hugo’s mobile phone to put a bet on the one-forty at Newbury.
It was still over half an hour before the ceremony was due to begin, and as yet Tash’s side of the hall resembled the auditorium of a regional theatre box office flop with just one or two seats taken up by old friends and eager locals.
‘You don’t think her family’s found out what’s going to happen, do you?’ Gus muttered to Hugo in an undertone. ‘Alexandra swore she wasn’t going to tell a soul.’
‘She’s certainly told an arsehole.’ Hugo glanced around anxiously. ‘I wouldn’t put it past James French to have fucked this thing up deliberately out of spite. He hasn’t stopped grumbling all week about recouping the cost. It’s not as though he’s paying a penny towards the wedding now – he just can’t resist getting at Tash. Apart from the divine Alexandra, her family are almost as hellish as mine.’
‘Who
is
paying for all this?’ Gus whispered.
Hugo grinned. ‘Niall.’
‘But he’s totally strapped for cash, isn’t he?’
‘Not since the horse he owns a half-share in won twenty grand at Badminton.’ Hugo winked and then groaned as he looked towards the door. ‘Shit! I think Tash’s family is finally arriving. Here’s Cass-tration. You deal with her, Gus.’
He hastily tried to hide behind a vast arrangement of lilies as he recognised a familiar figure in a hat like a blue chiffon beehive, which exactly matched her floating sky blue chiffon empire-line dress. But fluttering a couple of blue-pearlised eye-lids, she had already spotted him and was trotting up on two sky blue satin pumps. She looked like a huge Wedgwood tea-pot on the move.
When Gus gallantly sprang forward to intercept her, she simply brushed him to one side with a blue patent leather kelly bag and kept going.
‘Hugo, isn’t it? Cassandra – you must remember? Tash’s aunt.’ She puckered her lips and aimed for his cheek with the same expression as someone frantically sucking the last fizzy pop out of a can with a straw. ‘We holidayed together with Alexandra at Champegny a couple of years ago. And, of course, I’ve seen you at darling Sophia’s social functions several times.’
Hugo flashed a noncommittal smile. ‘You look wonderful, Cassandra. And this is Marcus, isn’t it?’ He peered at a pasty-looking youth wearing a garishly striped velvet trouser suit, with a face full of double-topping pizza acne and straggly hair hidden under a shapeless black cottage loaf hat.
Cassandra let out a ringing laugh that set his teeth on edge.
‘Always the joker, Hugo.’ She gave him a wise look. ‘This is Sooxiee.’ She pronounced the misspelling with distaste. ‘Marcus’s girlfriend. And this is Marcus – my youngest son. You remember Hugo, don’t you, darling?’
An identical acned youth wearing pretty much the same get-up as his girlfriend – with the addition of a drooping rose in his buttonhole – shuffled up behind them, giving Hugo a cursory nod. Hugo gave a cursory nod in return.
‘Marcus is at Manchester now. He’s reading European fiscal law and monetary incrementals,’ Cass announced proudly.
‘Sounds riveting,’ Hugo muttered. ‘I must ask my local library to reserve a copy.’
‘I want to sit in a row with enough space for Sophia and Ben,’ Cassandra insisted as he moved them up the aisle.
‘What about your husband?’ Hugo asked carefully, worried that Pa Hennessy had croaked recently. He remembered that Marcus’s father was knocking on in years and had a gouty leg.
‘Michael? Oh, he’s parking the car. He can go anywhere – better near the back as he insists on singing incredibly badly at these things. I can’t believe Tash has hooked someone quite so – successful as Niall.’ She hated to admit to people being famous, considering celebrity distasteful. ‘Can you, Hugo?’
‘Niall’s a very lucky man.’ Hugo flashed a wary smile and thrust a service sheet under her nose.
‘But, my dear,’ Cass’s voice dropped to a hush-hush breath, ‘he’s
bound
to be unfaithful. All these film types are. They’re forever being exposed for it in the gutter press – or so my char tells me. We only read the
Daily Telegraph
, of course.’
‘Of course.’ He backed off hastily. He was in a cold sweat now, certain that the whole idea was doomed to failure.
In a bedroom at Lime Tree Farm, two women were ignoring the shrieks of impatient, dolled-up children coming from the next room and concentrating on a far more pressing dilemma as they prised and squeezed and forced flesh beneath fabric.
‘I’m sorry, Penny, I simply can’t wear this corset thing. It’s far too tight. I’d pass out from oxygen deprivation before I got through Niall’s five christian names.’
‘What are we going to do then?’ Penny’s eyes widened. ‘The dress simply won’t do up without it.’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got one I could borrow?’
The first thing Niall did when Sally and Matty walked through the door to the forge was offer them a drink.
‘A drink?’ Matty’s eyebrows headed rapidly towards his hairline and he slid Sally a knowing look. But the next moment Niall was lunging into the kitchen to fetch a half-f cafetière.
‘Do either of you take sugar? Only I don’t think we have any.’ He started slopping it into two mugs, trying not to get splatters on his trailing shirt-cuffs. ‘I just went over to the farm to borrow some cuff-links, but Tash’s mother was so frantic to throw me out before I bumped into the bride that she handed me a pair of gold earrings by mistake.’
He was dressed in just his shirt, trousers and braces, with no waistcoat or cravat. The jacket from his morning suit was slung over the back of one of the cast-iron chairs, and a pair of glossy shoes was sitting on a polish-smudged rectangle of newspaper nearby. Glancing down, Sally realised Niall wasn’t even wearing socks.
‘I can’t find any that match.’ He followed her gaze with an apologetic grin. ‘I don’t suppose you’re any good at tying cravats, are you?’
Laughing, Sally set about smartening him up. ‘You are hopeless. I thought this was the best man’s job?’
For a moment Niall caught Matty’s disapproving eye, but he said nothing.
‘I think the best man’s a little the worse for wear,’ Matty muttered sourly, looking down to where Rory Franks lay stretched out on the sofa like a teenager after his first drink binge – all floppy-haired, bruised-eyed good looks and charm mixed with an almost pathetic depravity. At least forty, he had been to more parties than a hired tuxedo, worked his way through more drugs than a small NHS hospital, and broken practically every law at least twice, yet was far too charming to dislike. He possessed the sleepy decadence of someone who should know better if only they could remember. His thickly lashed gaze crept over to the new arrivals and he shot them both a big, sleepy wink before closing his eyes.
‘My best man’s already at the hall,’ laughed Niall. ‘Rory’s only here to give me immoral support. He says he’s my bestial man.’
Matty let out an anxious sigh. ‘Niall, it’s not too late to—’
‘Don’t even try to persuade me to change my mind,’ he butted in, lifting his chin as Sally tied his cravat for him.
‘But you’re only going through with this because you’ve been pressurised into it!’ he exploded.
Niall’s huge, dark eyes regarded him thoughtfully. ‘And you want to pressurise me out of it, I suppose?’
Glaring at him, Matty said nothing.
‘There’s only one person who’s put me under absolutely no pressure at all recently.’ Niall’s voice shook as he spoke. ‘She’s stood by me quietly and supportively throughout the past few hellish weeks, and – instead of bullying or manipulating or panicking – she’s stayed calm. She didn’t tell me what to do. She’s never once told me what to do. Yet having her around, seeing how strong and firm and kind she is, has caused me to do things for myself instead of other people. She’s made me realise that, just sometimes, the only way to help other people is to be selfish yourself. And today I’m – we’re – planning to do something that’s entirely selfish, that’s entirely for us. The fact that it will also make a lot of other people very happy doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t matter about the pressure we’re under any more, d’you see? We’re doing this for us. We want to do it.’
‘You do?’ Matty still looked highly sceptical.
‘Yes!’ Niall laughed. ‘It’s been practically impossible to let people know what’s been happening, and this seemed the perfect way to come clean. I can’t wait to be asked if I’ll take her hand in marriage. It’ll be the most moving moment of my life.’
‘You sound very sure.’ Sally was leaning back and staring at him in amazement.
‘I am. I’m also so bloody scared, it’s just taken me ten minutes to do up each button on my shirt.’
‘I guess there’s not a lot I can do to dissuade you then, is there?’ Matty sighed. ‘Since you’re so determined to take a stable hand in marriage.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Niall winked. ‘I don’t suppose you guys could give us a lift to the wedding? Only I don’t think Rory’s up to driving and I’m far too nervous. If you really don’t think I should be doing this, Matty, you can always groomnap me.’
Sally didn’t like the way his eyes flickered.
‘I’m driving,’ she said hastily. ‘And if we don’t get going soon, we’ll be following the bridal train there. Do you know where this house is, Niall?’
He nodded. ‘Sure, angel. There’s a little ford about a mile away from here – it’s right next to that, behind a bloody great wall. You can’t miss it.’
Forty-Four
IN THE LONG HALL at Fosbourne Holt House, Niall’s mother and father were arriving very noisily, having brought their presents along with them. Thankfully Ma didn’t seem to recognise Hugo as the slack hotelier when she bore down on him.
‘Ah – here’s a person, so he is!’ called Ma O’Shaughnessy, a terrifying fifteen stone of muscle in a tent dress with red wine stains on the collar. ‘Can you hold on to this for us, child?’ With unstrained ease, she handed over to Hugo a huge parcel which almost broke his back. ‘Are we right or left now?’
‘Right.’ Hugo looked around for somewhere to put the parcel. It weighed a ton.
‘Case of Bushmills.’ Ma winked at him.
‘That’ll go down well.’ Hugo smiled, knowing that Niall had been on the wagon for the past fortnight without lapsing. He had even stuck to orange juice at his stag night.
Pa O’Shaughnessy, who was twice as tall as Ma but a third the width, tugged the collar of his shirt with a nicotine-stained finger and grimaced. ‘Jesus, I can’t wait to take this ting off. Sure, Niall’d not mind if I wasn’t wearing this neck-tie ting during the ceremony, would he? I wore the dratted article last time he got married, so I did.’
‘You’ll wear it, Daniel O’Shaughnessy, or you’ll not touch a drop of liquor this afternoon, do you hear me?’
He hastily left his collar alone and groped for his tobacco tin.
Leaving them in Gus’s capable – if shaking – hands, Hugo heaved the Bushmills to the back of the room and hid it behind the grand piano, where Roger Allice was trying to play some lightweight Bach between blowing his nose.
‘Bloody hay-fever,’ he cursed. ‘When I played at the Royal Festival Hall last month, I was crying throughout. The audience thought I was moved to tears by the music, but they’d stuck me next to a huge pot of lilac.’
Hugo wandered off to ask around for some anti-histamine tablets, carefully avoiding Ted and Franny who had both just rolled up reeking of Calvin Klein One. Franny was wearing a red second-skin rubber dress that emitted puffs of talc from the neckline when she sat down and strained over her ample bosom like cling film stretched over two apples. Pa O’Shaughnessy, who was smoking a hand-rolled cigarette in the front row, almost swallowed the plastic roses on his wife’s hat as he craned around to gawp at her.
Outside, Beetroot was now guarding Rufus’s lager cans so officiously that she wouldn’t let him anywhere near for a cooling swig.
He fanned himself with his top hat and watched as the
Cheers!
photographer danced around the arriving hordes, snapping madly. Beyond the wall, the tabloid paparazzi had attracted a group of minor stars who were trying to make sure they were snapped before they went into the house.
‘I was in that episode of
Casualty
where Baz and Charlie had a clinch over an artificial lung, remember? My ribs had been crushed when a parachutist landed on me?’
Having shown two more O’Shaughnessy arrivals to their seats, Hugo retired to an ante-room at the rear of the hall to swig from his mug of lukewarm coffee and sneak a cigarette, leaving Gus to cope alone for a moment.
‘This could be an all time bloody cock-up,’ he told the best man. ‘That prat from
Cheers!
has just spent five minutes photographing Niall’s brother, thinking he’s Johnny Depp. I hope to Christ Niall turns up – he’s cutting it finer than Rory Franks’s cocaine.’
‘They’re on their way. Niall called on the mobile twenty minutes ago to say he was out of bed, he’s lost his cuff-links and the washing-machine door at the forge has stuck so he can’t get his socks out. I still think I should have stayed with him.’
‘No way,’ Hugo growled. ‘Even if Niall behaved himself, Rory Franks would try to get inside your Y-fronts within five minutes.’
‘I’m not wearing Y-fronts.’
‘Make that two minutes then.’ He handed over his half-smoked cigarette and dived back out of the door again, slap into Sally and Matty.
‘You look gorgeous.’ Sally wandered in wearing a creased pink suit from the early-summer sales and kissed Hugo straight on the mouth.