The Marrying Game (33 page)

She was here, at the other end of the aisle, smiling at him, when he had been half expecting her to call the whole thing off at the last minute. He had not even allowed himself to dream of Rufa in her bridal gown, and here she was: lovely enough to break her father’s heart.

But I’ll take care of her, Edward promised the shade of the Man.

He had hardly slept the night before, keeping a last vigil with the shade of Alice. It was lucky, he thought, that he had not married her in this church. They had run off to a registry office in London, to escape old Mrs Reculver’s lingering disapproval. At the time, Rufus had reproached him – why hadn’t he been best man, and his pretty little daughters bridesmaids? Well, thank God it hadn’t happened, or this would have been far too strange.

This time, Edward’s best man was an old friend from Sandhurst, now a colonel in a Scottish regiment. His wife and two teenaged daughters stood on Edward’s side of the church, among the soldiers and farmers who made up his circle. He could see, from the expressions on their faces, that they could hardly believe Edward had won such a woman. He hardly believed it himself. He could not go through with it unless he banished all ghosts, dead and living.

‘Come down, O love divine,’ Berry sang. ‘Seek thou this soul of mine –’

People often had this one at weddings. In just under three weeks, everyone would be singing it at his own wedding. The reality had not hit him, until he saw the transformation of Rufa. What power a wedding dress
gave
to a woman, he thought. It was the oddest mixture of the sacrificial and the triumphant. He hoped he would look as splendid as Edward, but did not think he would cut such a commanding figure in morning dress. Edward stood, with squared shoulders and a ramrod back, his eyes burning into Rufa. But he was controlled enough to flash a grin at Linnet.

Berry thought Linnet looked scrumptious. He surprised himself by thinking how extraordinary and wonderful it would be, if he ever had a little girl of his own. No wonder Ran drivelled on about fatherhood – it was the only thing he had ever done properly.

Ran was an usher, along with the plump, sandy-haired Bickerstaff twins. The twins wore full, correct morning dress. Their grey top hats lay like two buckets on the table beside the door. Ran wore a peculiar blue suit with a jacket like a frock coat, buttoned to the neck. He had greeted Berry with a smacking kiss, and Polly’s eyebrows had shot up towards her hairline.

Polly turned to smile at him. Berry felt fond of her, and very proud that he had had the strength of mind to resist Nancy. This wedding was a test for him, to see if he could look at Nancy without wanting to throw himself at her feet. It was tough, when she was so divine, so seductive, in that big hat. Some women could really carry off a big hat. He did not think Polly was one of them, bless her. The pale blue thing she was wearing put Berry in mind of the lampshades over the billiard table at home. Its absurdity made him fonder of her. He squeezed her hand, with its Boodle and Dunthorne diamond engagement ring, in an affectionate and husbandly manner.

Polly had high standards for weddings. This one had
already
won her approval. The dusty village church, so cosily nested in rich Cotswolds countryside, delighted her. Rufa and Edward made a breathtaking couple. She had chosen to be amused when Ran kissed Berry. And she had been intrigued to recognize Tiger Durward, on the opposite side of the aisle (Berry and Polly had been put on Edward’s side, since the bride’s was overflowing with a mixture of local gentry for whom she had cooked, and colourful rural bohemians who had known the Man).

Polly had whispered, ‘What on earth is that Durward man doing here? Could he be going out with Nancy?’

Berry had gamely risen above his pang of jealousy, and said he did not believe so. He was not worried about Tiger, nor the pretty Indian who was obviously Nancy’s gay best friend. He was far more suspicious of the other man in their pew: tall, dark and devilishly handsome, in a style even sensible women could not see through. This must be the other lodger. If Berry had not been entirely happy to be marrying Polly, he would have detested the man.

Yes, he was looking forward to the peace and certainty of being married to Polly. This was surely what marriage was all about – escape from the debilitating furore of romance. They would have a magnificent wedding and a superb honeymoon in Kenya, and Polly would set the rest of his life running on oiled casters to the grave. Certainty was a blessing. Everything else was an illusion.

For Rufa, the rest of the day was a series of snapshots from a dream. She spoke her vows, and signed the book in the vestry. Edward was her husband. She posed for
photographs
outside the church, clinging to his arm. Hundreds of people, including the vicar and Tiger Durward, kissed her.

Wendy, incoherent with happiness, threw biodegradable confetti. She wore a purple velvet hat, like a squashed pancake, and darted about taking photographs with a very small camera, getting in everyone’s way. The new gravel on the weeded Melismate drive was scrunched by the wheels of dozens of cars.

Rufa and Edward took their places at the door for the receiving-line. They were wearing their public faces, and could not look at each other. The guests trooped past them; figures from the their old lives.

Roshan formally introduced Tiger, last seen sozzled and sobbing after Rufa had nearly clawed his eyes out at the ball. He was paler and thinner now, and offered congratulations and apologies in a shadow of his old, braying voice. Rufa decided she liked him – he obviously adored Roshan, and love made angels of the most unlikely people.

There was champagne, of course, chosen and paid for by Edward. There was a wedding breakfast which was a proper lunch (poached salmon and strawberries, both of them wild and wildly expensive), because Edward said scarcity of food at weddings made people quarrelsome. There were speeches, to which Rufa listened carefully and instantly forgot. Edward’s best man told lumbering anecdotes about the army, and proposed a rousing toast to Linnet. Edward himself spoke very briefly, mainly to thank everyone for coming.

Everyone around the long tables took the depth of his feelings for granted. It was known far and wide that Edward had saved the whole family, in the nick of time. The locals studied the improvements to Melismate, and
measured
them against the beauty of the bride. Nobody was at all surprised that Rufa had married so well. She had always been the sensible one. And after the food and the speeches, there was a general spillage on to the sunny terrace for more champagne. The guests fell back into their cliques, to tell each other that the Hastys had an inborn talent for landing on their feet.

Nancy had taken off her hat and let down her hair. She and Berry had greeted each other with strained jollity, and a brief kiss that left them both blushing. They had seen each other in the wine bar since Nancy crashed into his flat, but she had avoided serving him if she could. Occasionally she found herself sweeping his credit card through the machine. This was the nearest they came to intimacy.

Polly the Perfect had not registered the blushes. She’s counting the hours till her own wedding, Nancy thought dully. She had never seen the Digger looking so pretty. Polly wore a mimsy linen suit and her hat was just plain stupid; but, somehow, she shone. There was a dewy freshness to her skin. She had been very gracious to Nancy, partly because she was entranced by the golden stones and briar roses of Melismate. She had not, of course, seen it in the days of glorious filth.

Nancy supposed she wished the woman joy. Berry, of all people, deserved joy. She dared to glance at him, and caught him at the exact moment when he was sneaking a glance at her. They both reddened again, and turned their backs. The aura of failed sex around their last encounter was a permanent embarrassment. Nancy ran down the terrace steps, across the moat and out over the
sweep
of turf. She was totally unused to carrying a heart that was at all heavy. It was bewildering, and perversely delicious.

‘Nancy –’

Max was a few yards behind her, hurrying to catch her up. She slowed down, thinking how sexy some men could look in morning dress. Together they strolled towards the huge acacia tree near the park fence. Beyond the fence lay the meadows, lushly overgrown and quivering with butterflies.

‘This place is fabulous,’ Max said. ‘I think I begin to understand your Marrying Game now. I never imagined you came from a place like this.’

Nancy laughed – she had been hearing versions of this all day. ‘The point is, I didn’t come from a place like this. Before Ru liberated Edward’s money, it was a dump.’

‘I’m sure it was always beautiful,’ Max said. ‘As beautiful as you are.’

‘Oh, get along with you.’

‘I mean it. Why did you take off the hat?’

‘It was in the way,’ Nancy said. ‘I couldn’t kiss anyone.’

Max followed her into the ragged circle of shadow under the acacia. ‘Talking of which, why haven’t I kissed you yet?’

‘Because you haven’t been asked.’ Nancy fancied Max, of course she did; but it was an increasingly academic fancying. Her insides no longer turned somersaults when he raked her body with his wicked eyes.

‘Why haven’t I been asked?’ He was laughing, but the question was serious. ‘We had something brewing at one time, you and I.’

‘Yes, but other things kept getting in the way.’

‘You were chasing your Lord Whatsit. But you don’t have to do that any more.’ Max leaned against the trunk of the tree. ‘Now that your sister has effectively won the Marrying Game, you can relax. Go back to playing for love.’

‘I wish it was that simple,’ Nancy said. She had caught, and resented, his opinion of Rufa’s marriage.

His voice softened. ‘What’s happened to you, Nancy? The Game’s over. You’re free – so why aren’t you up for being seduced and ravished?’

‘Goodness, where did you get the idea that I liked that sort of thing?’

He laughed and retreated, but he was ready to leap in again when she gave him the chance. ‘So, what are you going to do with yourself now? Come home to the ancestral pile?’

‘Don’t be silly, I only took two days off work. I have to be back behind the bar on Monday.’

Max was thoughtful. He settled his back more comfortably against the tree. ‘Is it such a great job?’

‘Best I ever had.’

‘And the only place you get to see him.’

Nancy groaned. ‘God, am I that obvious?’

‘Glaring. It seems that Cupid’s little arrow has at last found a chink in your tough hide. You’ve gone and fallen in love with your target.’

‘Yes,’ Nancy said, ‘I think that’s what this must be. I think this is what being really in love is like, as opposed to being nearly in love. It’s the difference between
Romeo and Juliet
and a musical comedy.’ She sighed. ‘Max, have you ever been in love?’

‘Do you want gallant or truthful?’

‘Truthful.’

‘OK, I have been in love,’ Max said. ‘Passionately – by which I mean sexually. That stage of burning infatuation. But it never seems to last long. I’m gutted when it ends, and it’s probably my fault that it does. I don’t know why.’