Green Girl (11 page)

Harriet was reminded of Agnes
’
contemptuous dismissal of her shrunken suit as cheap material with no give; her opinion of the
‘
wheeshy
’
jacket would doubtless be as disparaging.

“
No!
”
said Harriet with sudden firmness, eyeing her old orphanage coat with acute disfavour.
“
I
’
d rather perish of cold than wear this to my wedding.
”

Cassidy, a thin little man with the face of a sad monkey, who drove the car when needed and did odd jobs about the place, looked unfamiliar in his Sunday blacks and a large white chrysanthemum in his buttonhole. He ushered Harriet into the back of the car, politely rejecting her offer to sit beside him, saying it would not be proper for a bride, and drove off through the big iron gates which today had been left unlocked and open.

If Harriet had qualms now, she refused to pander to them, remembering her brash assurance of the night before, and whatever lay ahead could only spell good fortune compared with the drab prospects of Clapham and its figurative bread and scrape. As they reached the outskirts of the town and she had her first glimpse of the colour and noise and indescribable smells of an Irish market day, she forgot her more sober commitment at the church, and craned her neck this way and that to miss nothing of such novel entertainment.

They arrived at last at the church which fortunately was tucked away in a quiet alley, and Harriet scrambled out, hastily straightening Molly
’
s headscarf, aware that she must adjust herself quickly to the more serious business ahead. She had not, however, expected to find her bridegroom standing on the church steps, watching the street with a most discouraging expression; shouldn
’
t he have been at the altar, or were they to walk up the aisle together?

“
You
’
re nearly half an hour late,
”
he rapped out.
“
Harriet, you look flushed. Have you caught a chill again? Why on earth didn
’
t you wear a coat?
”

It was hardly the time, she thought, to explain about the coat, but she wanted to placate him, so said the first thing that came into her head.

“
The market was so exciting—all those people—shouting and enjoying themselves like mad—I wanted to get out and shout too. You don
’
t see anything like that in England. Mr. Lonnegan—Duff, I mean—couldn
’
t we stop on the way
back and watch, and perhaps visit the stalls? Will they still be there?
”

His expression for a moment was an extraordinary mixture of exasperation and rather grim amusement, and she realised too late that the request must sound a little odd as a proposed conclusion to more solemn affairs.

“
They
’
ll be there for the rest of the day and every Tuesday from now on, so forget your latest patch of woolgathering just for today, will you? Now, give me a moment to get back up the aisle, then follow. O
’
Rafferty is waiting for you in the porch,
”
he said, and
t
urned on his heel and strode back into the church.

After that it was all a little unreal. The short service was over very quickly and nothing of it gave Harriet any feeling of sanctity. She did not know the man who was to give her away, or the horsy-looking, stocky individual standing by Duff at the chancel rails, presumably his best man. Only when the ring was slipped on her finger, feeling cold and unfamiliar against her flesh, did she know complete awareness, and she looked up with a swift, unspoken question at the dark stranger who was now her husband. But Duff was staring straight ahead and if he was conscious of the little movement beside him he did not look down. Just for a moment, however, his hand tightened on hers in reassurance, and she was comforted.

Signing the register was a matter of moments, for there was no one present to offer more than conventional congratulations to the bridegroom, and no one at all to kiss the bride. Perhaps Duff sensed that for Harriet the proceedings had been a little bleak and disillusioning, for he quite suddenly stooped down and kissed her.

“
Good luck, Mrs. Lonnegan—and thank you,
”
he said softly, then
motioned her out of the vestry. Their progress down the aisle was scarcely like the slow, triumphal procession accompanied by the joyful strains of the Wedding March which she used to imagine for herself. It was true her bridegroom offered his arm, but he seemed in a hurry to get out of the church as quickly as possible and she had trouble keeping up with him. As they reached the doors a woman sitting in shadow in the last pew detached herself gracefully from the small knot of spectators and met them in the porch, holding out two elegantly gloved hands.

“
Congratulations, Duff. Don
’
t you think you might have invited me to your wedding?
”
she said.

Harriet felt Duff
’
s arm stiffen under her fingers and he stopped dead.

“
Good morning, Samantha,
”
he said then with grave courtesy.
“
How long have you been home?
”

At the unfamiliar, beguiling name, Harriet turned to look at the stranger, and her heart missed a beat in a moment of superstitious dread, for this was the face in the portrait, older, perhaps, and infinitely more finished, but the same provocativeness was there in the full lips and slanting eyes, the same beauty of brow and finely moulded bones.

“
I got back a week ago—as if you didn
’
t know!
”
she was replying in a husky voice that carried a faint intonation—Irish, or possibly transatlantic.
“
Your bride is looking as if she has seen a ghost. Won
’
t you introduce me?
”

Duff
’
s eyes came back to his wife and narrowed for a moment as he observed her slightly open mouth and wide incredulous stare.

“
Harriet, this is Mrs. Dwight, a cousin of my first wife,
”
he said, adding with a soft hint of mockery,
“
Your curiosity that evening led you to a wrong assumption, I think.
”

Harriet shook hands, relief depriving her of speech for the moment.
Sam
... Of course there had been no young lover in Dublin where the pining Kitty had left her heart, only the lovely cousin whose portrait she had begun to while away the lonely hours, and who had sent books and fripperies from time to time to bring her pleasure.

“
You look cold, or is it just wedding-day nerves?
”
Mrs. Dwight was saying, and she suddenly slipped off her short mink jacket and flung it round Harriet
’
s shoulders.

“
There, that
’
s more bridal-looking,
”
she said, and turned back to Duff.
“
You seem to be cradle-snatching this time, darling. Where did you find this charming child who seems to be quite tongue-tied, and do tell her to take off that
hideous headscarf—it makes
h
er look like one of the little
girls from the bacon factory.
”

Harriet
’
s first sense of relief gave way to discomfort. Samantha Dwight
’
s elegant clothes pointed a cruel contrast to her own, and the faint amusement in her eyes proved embarrassing rather than sympathetic.

“
I hadn
’
t got a hat,
”
she said, snatching off the headscarf.
“
Molly, the nice little servant girl, lent me this.
”

“
Really? How odd not to have a hat at all.
”

“
Give Samantha back her coat and come along, Harriet,
”
Duff said a little curtly, but Samantha firmly buttoned the jacket under Harriet
’
s chin.

“
No, no keep it on—in fact, keep it altogether as a wedding present. Duff, I can see, hasn
’
t got around yet to a husband
’
s privilege in the matter of clothes,
”
she said, and smiled up at Duff.
“
Am I invited to the wedding breakfast since you were rude enough not to ask me to the ceremony, darling?
”

He hesitated for the fraction of a second, then said a little stiffly:

“
There
’
s no wedding breakfast as such, just cold food waiting at Clooney, and doubtless champagne if Jimsy has anything to do with it,
”
he replied, and they all three began walking down the chur
c
h steps together.

“
No shenanigans at the Knockferry Arms? What a shame! Your bride looks as if she could do with a bit of cheer in convivial company,
”
Samantha said, giving Harriet
’
s arm a friendly squeeze.

“
Not on a market day with the pubs packed with a tipsy rabble, though the bride, in fact, did express the rather unusual wish to do the stalls on the way home—as a reward for standing up beside me in church, possibly.
”

Harriet was startled by the bitter note in his voice, but Samantha clapped her hands like an excited child.

“
Oh, do let
’
s!
”
she cried.
“
It
’
s years since I had a shy at the coconuts and poked the pigs and bought hideous, useless junk at those dirty stalls. Come on, Duff! Make amends for your churlishness in not inviting me to your wedding and ask me back to Clooney to drink your health for old times
’
sake, and we
’
ll stop on the way and let your Harriet try her luck at the booths.
”

“
Oh,
please
,”
Harriet said, as he still did not answer, and he gave her a rather odd look.

“
Very well, if that will please you,
”
he said quite gently,
“
but we
’
ll leave the fun of the fair till another day if you don
’
t mind. Have you got a car here, Samantha? Good; well, you know your way. Incidentally, you
’
d better have your coat back.
”

“
Oh, no, that
’
s a present—it does something for her, too. I
’
ve got a stole in the car so I won
’
t be cold. Let
’
s get going.
”
Samantha moved towards a small red car parked behind Duff
’
s and he opened the door for her.

“
I
’
m sorry, but Harriet can
’
t accept that sort of present from you,
”
he said pleasantly but quite firmly.
“
She can wear it back to the house, since you
’
re kind enough to lend it. Raff and Barry have gone on already, so they
’
ll give you a drink if you
’
re there before us—be seeing you.
”

He did not speak at all as he and Harriet made slow progress through the crowded streets, his attention wholly occupied with the hazards to be met with on the way. Harriet beside him snuggled blissfully into Samantha
’
s coat, stroking the fur with reverent fingers because never before had she beheld mink, much less touched it, her eyes glued to the window for another look at the junketing going on outside.

She was grateful to Duff for having included Samantha in the little party, for she had been slightly apprehensive of sitting down to luncheon with his two unknown friends, neither of whom had shown much interest in her. The charming Mrs. Dwight would, she was sure, know exactly how to keep the conversation going, and another woman would be a comforting support should the talk become too dull and masculine.

“
What does her husband do?
”
she asked, once they were out of the town and it seemed safe to chatter without being checked for proving a distraction.

“
Her husband is occupied in pushing up the daisies,
”
he replied with, she thought, rather heartless levity.

“
Oh, how sad for her. She
’
s young and so very lovely,
”
she said.

“
Not as sad as you might think. They were already divorced.
”

“
Oh! Did she stay at C
l
ooney much when your wife was alive? I found books and things signed
‘
Sam
’
. I thought it was a young man who
’
d been in love with her.
”

He did not reply for a moment, then said discouragingly: