Sophie's Run (17 page)

“Ah, weddings,” Dan mumbled in my ear. “You can’t beat them.”

Unsure how to react to this unexpected confession, I merely smiled and squeezed his hand.

The service over, we stepped back out into the brilliant sunshine and I blinked.

“You okay?” Dan asked quietly.

“Of course I’m okay,” I responded briskly.

People were spilling out of the church and milling about, and Dan took my arm yet again. “Let’s perambulate and look busy,” he suggested.

So we ambled about, reveling in the views and the summer sunshine. After the third circuit of the grounds, however, my feet were starting to ache and I needed a sit-down. And I really, really fancied a drink.

“Do you think the bar might be open?” I asked hopefully.

“Let’s go take a look,” Dan concurred eagerly.

We located the bar inside the castle itself, in one of the downstairs reception rooms. A long oak counter stretched the length of one wall, and the tables scattered across the room were equipped with candles and glasses. Dan swiftly installed himself behind the deserted counter and tried to work out how to get a drink without breaking anything.

“Get out from behind there,” I hissed, feeling the giggles rise. “I’m not that desperate, and we’ll get caught.”

“The lady fancies a drink,” Dan intoned solemnly, “and so a drink the lady shall have.”

“Too bloody right,” someone concurred forcefully behind me. Dan and I turned as one to see who had found us out. A little old lady in a pink tweedy dress with an impossible hat had banged her handbag on one of the tables and sat down heavily on a nearby chair.

“Ah, good. A server,” she continued brusquely in a clipped, very posh accent. She had to be one of Tim’s great-aunts. “Get on with it, young man. Don’t stand there like a nincompoop. Open the bloody bar and come across with some fizz,” she instructed regally, if somewhat rudely.

Dan sprang to with glee, never once batting an eyelid. He gave a mock salute and declared, a tad jokingly, “Yes, ma’am. Of course, ma’am.”

“Champagne, if you please. And not the cheap stuff. I know what they have. I paid for it.”

Definitely one of the great-aunts, then.

I scrabbled in my handbag for a tissue to stifle the laughter that was building in my chest. I barely concealed it as a cough before I got told off.

“You, young lady, stop that slouching. It does nothing for your posture, or your appearance. And whatever could be the matter with you? Take that hanky out of your face and let me see you properly. Do I know you?”

Mutely, I shook my head. I didn’t trust myself to speak. Dan interrupted our little malentendu by waving a champagne bottle about. “Will this do, ma’am?”

Unidentified Great Aunt duly turned her attention away from me.

“Yes, that’ll do. But for heaven’s sake, stop waving it about. You’ll spoil the bubbles.”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

Dan took a step back and grabbed a white napkin, which he wrapped carefully and expertly around the bottle. He turned the bottle with a flourish, turned, and turned it some more, and the cork came out with a satisfying
plop
. Nothing spilled, not a drop. I felt like applauding but caught myself in time.

For a second, Dan stood there, bottle in his right hand, cork in the left, surveying the situation. Then he set the cork down and took the bottle in the proper grip, four fingers cradling the base of the bottle and the thumb inserted in the little indent in the bottom.

It was a magnum bottle, and it was full, and no doubt it was insanely heavy.

It was also chilled, and now sweating with condensation. It was a recipe for disaster.

Dan threw me a look. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” I responded automatically.

“Okay…” Dan said, his tongue flicking over his top teeth in concentration. “Here goes…”

He stepped up to the counter and took position in front of a large triangular arrangement of champagne flutes which was at least ten rows deep. Dan stood by the base, and the very tip of the triangle was furthest away from him.

He lifted the bottle.

He leaned forward, holding his jacket tight to his body with his left hand so as not to disturb the glasses as he leaned.

He reached out his right hand, the one holding the bottle.

He reached out to pour into the top glass.

He reached—

And he leaned—

And—

CRASH!

The bottle slipped out of his hand, fell, and smashed at least two dozen champagne flutes in one go. The bottle itself smashed into several pieces. Champagne sprayed everywhere. Dan jumped back. Unidentified Great Aunt fell sideways off her chair with shock and surprise. Smithereens of glass shot across the room almost as far as the window.

And thus it was all over. The silence was deafening.

I was mortified. Dan seemed unperturbed. Unidentified Great Aunt recovered first.

“Now that wasn’t terribly clever,” she commented from her prone position on the floor. “I daresay that was several hundred pounds of damage you’ve just inflicted, young man. Perhaps you ought to consider a change of career.”

She tried to get up, but couldn’t manage to get her limbs in order. “Would you terribly mind giving me a hand up before you go about tidying up this disaster?” she asked pointedly.

Dan jumped out from behind the bar and helped her to her feet. He sat her back down at the table and asked, quite conversationally, “Would you like a drink while I tidy this fiasco?”

“Why, yes, certainly,” she responded.

“Me too, please,” I chimed in, inadvertently sitting myself down at the table with Great Aunt.

She gave me a hearty pat on the arm.

“That’s been quite a shock, dear, hasn’t it?” she said bracingly. “You might have been hit by shrapnel. Still, nothing that can’t be mended. Except of the spilled champagne, of course. Terrible waste, that. Never mind.”

I nodded dumbly, unable to figure her out.
Shrapnel?

Dan appeared at our table with a fresh bottle, which he opened with as much aplomb as the previous one but poured in a more pedestrian manner, using both hands in fact so as not to lose control of the slippery surface again. He poured two glasses, one for Great Aunt and one for me, and, after a moment’s thought, he poured himself one and sat down with us.

“Cheers,” he offered with a sunny smile. Great Aunt was absolutely scandalized, but I clinked glasses happily.

“I don’t know,” Great Aunt muttered to herself. “The help sitting down with the guests, what are we coming to?”

Dan and I exchanged a look, and he decided to let himself off the hook. “I’m not the help, actually,” he declared mildly. “I’m a guest. I couldn’t find any help, so I thought I’d help myself, so to speak. Which is, of course, terribly rude and uncouth.”

Somehow, he had struck the right tone of endearing contriteness. Great Aunt did a dramatic opinion U-turn.

“Not the help… I see, I see. Just taking the initiative. Right. Of course. Yah. I do apologize. You see, I thought…” She actually petered out, which was probably a first in her entire life.

“No need to apologize,” Dan said. “And I will, of course, reimburse your family for this terrible mess.”

“Oh, no, no, no, I won’t hear of it. The caterers can claim it on their insurance. No, don’t you worry yourself, young man, I will set it right.” And, clutching her champagne glass in one hand and her handbag in the other, she tottered off.

Dan and I sat in silence for a minute, then burst out laughing.

“You didn’t do that deliberately, did you?” I inquired of him between gasps.

“Of course not,” Dan snorted. “I would never waste champagne like that.”

“I could see it happening,” I confessed. “I just couldn’t stop you.”

“Me, too,” Dan admitted, wiping a tear from his eye. “Although I didn’t anticipate it being quite so spectacular.”

He took a big sip of his drink. “It is mighty nice stuff,” he commented. “Probably quite expensive, I should think.”

“Oh, at least a few hundred pounds worth of damage,” I intoned solemnly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan waved me off. “That includes the glasses, though.”

We giggled again, and I defiantly ignored another attack of sharp, stabbing pain in my tummy. It was probably just a stitch.

“Come on, let’s tidy up,” Dan eventually rallied. “We can’t leave this mess.”

He located a dustpan and brush, bucket, broom and mop in a little cupboard just outside the bar.

“How did you know about this?” I stared in wonderment.

“It was a guess. As I told you before…humble beginnings. Once upon a time, I worked behind the bar as well as singing in front of it, as it were.” He grinned and handed me the dustpan and brush.

“Be careful not to cut yourself while you swipe the debris off the counter. I’ll take care of the rest.”

We left the bar spick and span, with the pyramid of glasses restored and a note on the till with the telephone number of Dan’s agent so the staff could contact him about payment for the damages. The wedding reception was just beginning to get under way and we went to investigate the table plans. Soon we discovered that we had been placed with some of Tim’s relatives—and who should be presiding over our table, but Unidentified Great Aunt! When she saw us approaching, she rose from her seat and exclaimed joyfully, “Yoo-hoo, you two, over hee-aaar.”

Dan gave me a conspiratorial smile. “This should be interesting,” he whispered.

Ever the networker, he greeted Great Aunt warmly as though they had known each other forever. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and offered hers to be kissed in return. Then he introduced me formally as his companion, which elicited a round of excited whispering around the table. But he refused to be drawn, and, smiling gracefully, we sat down on our assigned chairs.

After the meal, of course, there came the speeches. I felt myself grow tense with apprehension.

“Relax,” Dan breathed into my ear. “Soon we can dance.”

I did as instructed, holding on to my champagne glass for moral support, breathing deeply and smiling widely. And happily, nothing bad happened. The speeches were short and sweet with lots of gracious things being said. We toasted the bridesmaids, the happy couple, and parents, family and friends, and that was it. My nightmare remained just that—a stupid, self-inflicted and completely unfounded worry. I mentally sent my most sincere apologies and deepest gratitude to Tim and Dina, glad now that I had come along to witness their union.

The newlyweds performed their first dance to much rousing applause, and all of a sudden the sit-down part of the evening was over.

“I want to dance,” Dan reiterated.

“And so you shall!” I nudged him to look at the dance floor where a folk band was setting up on the stage. Right on cue, their caller announced that the ceilidh would commence in five minutes.

“A ceilidh!” My excitement levels rose to dramatic heights. I
loved
Scottish dancing.

“Excellent!” Dan rubbed his hands together energetically. “Let’s get hot and sweaty.”

I laughed. “I’m sure we shall. I might have to take these shoes off, though, they’ll kill me. Or I might accidentally stab someone with the heels!”

The caller asked for the first set of people to join him on the dance floor.

“Come on, you good folks,” he coaxed. “I need two sets of eight people here. We’re doing the Cumberland Square Eight”

I slipped off my shoes and Dan pulled me to my feet. We were second on the dance floor after Tim and Dina, and we bowed to each other ceremoniously. Dina wore the brightest smile, and even Tim looked me squarely in the eye.

The caller put us through our paces, circling, stepping left, stepping right, toward the middle and back out again, doing baskets, round and round, and then dance it all again with the next partner down the line. I waved a temporary goodbye to Dan and surrendered to the motion of the dance.

Inevitably, before too long it was my turn to dance with Tim, and we smiled at each other uncertainly. The pace of the music was too fast for any hesitation, and within seconds we boogied, holding hands, swirling each other, clinging tight then letting go, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you,” Tim said sincerely while we promenaded round the floor. “I’m enjoying myself. And thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me.” I injected more gratitude in my voice than I could express in words.

“It was good to see you,” Tim elaborated carefully. “And Dan, too.”

My cheeks tingled with a rising blush. “It’s not…we’re not…he’s just a friend. We’re not together,” I felt obliged to explain.

“It doesn’t matter either way,” Tim absolved me graciously. “That’s all history.”

The jig ended and I pulled Tim aside for a moment to continue our conversation.

“Why…why were you so cross when I bumped into you a few weeks back?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. “You can’t imagine how surprised I was when you sent me a wedding invitation shortly after that encounter.”