With July fast approaching, wedding preparations went into overdrive. The catering kitchen was scrubbed down and readied for the catering company to cook for both the wedding breakfast and the banquet that was planned for the evening. Dress fittings came and went for everyone involved and the chandeliers were finally re-hung in the ballroom, taking it from a nicely-decorated room to something exquisite. The wedding planner was an extremely effeminate man called Ashley, who used his camp mannerisms and faux sweetness as cover for ruthless efficiency and an attention to detail that could only be described as obsessive. Lady Golding adored him.
As the days wore on, he bullied, cajoled, and downright ordered the entire wedding entourage into as many preparations as possible, forcing Marina Prost-Winston to get all three children's hair cut by declaring that their 'ends looked like rats had chewed them' as loudly and publicly as possible. When the time had come to start rehearsals, he'd stood with his clipboard, like a general ordering his troops into battle formation, as they took their places in the chapel. Oscar had to admit, he was terribly impressed by the way the skinny little chap took charge, choreographing the whole thing, and Ashley's copious spreadsheets seemed to cover every eventuality.
As the day approached, Lucy became more nervous, while Oscar began to allow himself to feel excited, more at the prospect of having the castle full of people and dancing again, but also for Lucy, the next Lady Golding, to give her the security that he knew she needed.
He'd kept away from Ivan and Elle, which had been a good thing. They'd been busy with work, their new building project, and life in general, and Oscar had kept himself busy at the Lords, ratifying legislation before the summer break, when Parliament would be in recess. With no new banking legislation on the horizon, his work at the bank was pretty steady, mainly limited to the odd meeting and some socialising. It wasn't exactly a hard life.
“It's gonna be a struggle being properly devout in front of everyone for a whole weekend,” Lucy said to Lady Golding, who laughed.
“Don't let the Rabbi catch you eating bacon for breakfast,” she teased. “You'll have to keep your wits about you. Oscar too, as we'll be serving everything as normal. Very few of our guests are of the faith.”
“No point having a full on wedding in the Synagogue smelling of bacon is there?” Lucy giggled. She was glad that Oscar's family were like her own, only Jewish at weddings, Bris or Zeved Habat and funerals. She'd eaten pork at school, to fit in, and had liked it. The same thing had happened to Oscar at Eton.
**
Ivan decided that morning dress was the most ridiculous outfit that the British had ever invented. He'd had his made, of course, by his usual tailor, who'd assured him that every detail was correct for a society wedding. “I'm gonna melt wearing this,” he complained to Elle as he buttoned up the front of the jacket. The coat-tails felt long and alien, brushing the back of his legs. He doubted very much that Conniscliffe had air conditioning. It was a blisteringly hot day already, and it was only eleven o'clock. “Why do Brits think it's a good idea to wear three layers on a hot day in July?” He grumbled.
Elle looked cool and summery in a pale lilac dress, loosely fitted over her little bump, with a floaty navy blue bolero, with a navy and lilac wide-brimmed hat and navy sandals and clutch. Her hair had been freshly blow-dried into soft waves, and her makeup was kept soft and smudgy. Ivan eyed her, partly proud of how perfect she was, partly envious of her more practical outfit. “You look very smart,” she assured him. “I'm sure you'll be able to take your jacket off later.”
“I might have to come back here for a swim to cool down,” he huffed. He was starting to perspire already.
“I think we're stuck there all day,” Elle said. I'm hoping I'll be able to kick off my shoes at some point. My ankles'll get so swollen it'll look like I've got my legs on upside down.”
“I went to a Catholic wedding once where just the service was three hours long,” Ivan said, “I hope this isn't gonna be like that. Have you ever been to a Jewish one?” Elle shook her head. “I didn't really even realise that Lucy and Oscar were devout,” he said.
Elle pulled a face. “They're not, as far as I know. I think it's just a family thing.” She picked up her clutch. “Anyway, let's count ourselves lucky that we haven't had to stay all weekend like some of the guests. At least we can come back here tonight and throw ourselves in the pool if need be.”
They set off downstairs to say goodbye to the dogs, who were flopped out on a shady bit of the patio sucking on chicken-flavoured ice lollies, while Viktor sat nearby watching over them, wearing just his swim shorts, his gun on the table beside him. “You be good girls for Viktor,” said Ivan, wondering if he should tell Viktor to go put on his suit, before dismissing the notion as just envy that he got a Sunday at home with the girls by the pool, while he had to sit in a church wearing a penguin suit.
“Which car do you want to take?” Nico asked as they stepped outside. On the drive were two identical silver Bentleys. Despite not being given a choice of colour, Elle had been delighted with hers.
“Doesn't matter,” Ivan said, walking to the nearest one, which happened to be his. “Nico, put your chauffeur's hat on, oh-- and turn the air conditioning up as high as it'll go.”
The mood at the castle that morning was celebratory, with people and staff milling about. It gave everything a festive air. People had arrived the evening before, by helicopter, car, and taxi. Kyle had been tasked with assisting the pilots in parking on the great lawn on the outskirts of the estate. A row of choppers sat waiting for their esteemed passengers who'd require them early Monday morning, when everyone would be leaving.
Lady Golding was in her element. The castle was full to the brim with fun, interesting people and she hosted a dinner on the Saturday evening in the large dining room, which had required the two long tables to be set side-by-side to accommodate everyone. She held court, changing tables through the courses, so as to be able to chat with as many people as possible. Both Oscar and Lucy had watched her in astonishment, wondering where she got all her energy from.
The two of them had taken a table each, welcoming their guests and introducing them to others at the party. It had been a good icebreaker having a dinner the night before.
“Did you have a hen party?” An elderly viscountess asked.
“Oh yes,” Lucy replied. “A whole group of us went to Barcelona for the weekend a few weeks ago. It was a riot, so much fun.”
“Nobody got into trouble, I hope?” The old lady asked, a twinkle in her eye.
Lucy grinned. “Bunty McKendrick got drunk and fell in a fountain, then took all her clothes off, but it was ok. Arabella made Darius get her out of jail.”
“She always was a pickle that one,” chortled the Viscountess, before raising her glass to Bunty, her god-daughter, who was sitting further down the table.
“Nobody took any pictures, so no harm done,” said Lucy, taking a tiny sip of her champagne, determined to make her one glass last all evening. She was under strict instructions from Ashley to go to bed early and apply plenty of miracle night cream, not that she was particularly looking forward to sleeping in a single bed in Lady Golding's apartment.
Oscar sat next to his sister, Stella, who had arrived that day with her 'friend' Paulina. Lady Golding had graciously welcomed them both warmly and hadn't commented when Stella had announced that they were quite happy to share a room, if the castle was full. “Mother seems happy,” Stella had whispered to Oscar as their mother greeted another old friend with pecks on the cheeks and a big smile.
“She is. Getting all this organised has kept her too busy to be miserable. She's better with people around her.”
“Last time I saw her, she looked like she'd been sucking a lemon. It's good to see her perked up.” Stella paused, “It's good to see you happy too. You look well.”
“Thank you, I feel it. Mind you, the last time you saw me was just after father's funeral. I hadn't been out of rehab long. I'm not all tanned like you though, well, not until I've had a couple of weeks out in Tuscany.”
“When do you fly out?” Stella asked.
“ Monday. It's gonna be a long enough day as it is tomorrow without trying to travel to Italy as well. How long are you staying for?”
“Depends how mother is with Paulina really. If she's like this, on best behaviour, we'll stay a week. Jones said that all the guests staying in my apartment here are leaving Monday morning, so I might use the opportunity to show her around a bit. I've missed Conniscliffe.”
“I'm sure she'll be fine. She's mellowed a lot recently. Are things still good out in Italy?”
She smiled and nodded. “The villas are all mostly booked for the whole summer, thanks to some good TripAdviser reviews. It's hard work, but good. It's important for Paulina that it's a success because she doesn't want to live off my trust fund.”
Oscar glance over at Paulina, who, like Stella, had her hair cut short and wore a smart pantsuit as opposed to a dress. They were both striking women, well-suited and had made a life together, despite the opposition his parents had placed on their relationship.
“Lucy seems lovely,” Stella said. “Very much your type. Was Mommy-dearest a bitch to her when you brought her home for the first time?”
Oscar laughed. “Not really. Mother had the Gorgon knocked out of her by the time Lucy came along. Think she was just pleased to see me settled.” Stella tilted her head, questioning. Oscar went on; “I brought a girl home who was more than a match for her, a lawyer whom I'd met at work. It's a long, boring story, but let's just say that mother was delighted when the sweet, gentle Lucy came on the scene.”
“Didn't Lucy tell me that she was a lawyer too?” Stella asked.
Oscar nodded. “Family law. Elle was a corporate lawyer, the sharpest I've ever met. She ran circles round mother. You'll meet her tomorrow, she's coming with her husband.”
“She was a married woman?” Stella gasped. “Oscar, what were you thinking?”
He laughed, “she wasn't married when I met her. I lost her to him. My own stupid fault. As I said, long story. I met Lucy through her. They did their training together.”
“I can't wait to meet this Elle tomorrow,” Stella said, just as Lady Golding sat next to her.
“Elle? Lovely girl, sharp as a tack. Her husband, well, put it this way, he'd even turn your head,” Lady Golding joked. Stella laughed in spite of herself.
“Doubt it mother, but you can live in hope. Good-looking is he, then?”
“I hate to say it, but probably one of the most handsome men I've ever seen. Even gives me a little shiver,” she said.
“Mother!” Oscar chided her jokingly. “Don't let Elle hear you talk like that.”
Laughing, Lady Golding went off to chat to the Emir.
“She's had too much to drink do you think?” Stella asked. Oscar shook his head. “Well, looks like I'm staying for the week then.”
Lucy was up ridiculously early the following morning, having heeded Ashley's warning to be in bed by ten, plus the single bed had been extremely uncomfortable, given that she was used to a super kingsize bed with Oscar's warm body next to her.
It was her wedding day, the day she'd been waiting for.
She pulled on her dressing gown and opened the curtains. Sunlight flooded in, the strong, bright light of a perfect summers day. The sky was cornflower blue, with just a couple of tiny, white, fluffy clouds, just enough to be picturesque. The first smile of the day was entirely natural as she gazed out at the gardens, which had been primped and preened into utter perfection.
A knock at the door interrupted her. “Come in,” she called out. Lady Golding walked in, followed by Jones, who was bearing a large trolley full of breakfast goodies.
“Morning Lucy. How are you feeling? Thought you might like your breakfast in privacy, you know, no need to forgo your protein.”
“Wonderful,” Lucy said, eyeing the trolley. The smell of bacon filled the room. Lady Golding poured out two cups of tea and took one with her as she sat on the small sofa opposite the bed.
“It'll be a bit of a bunfight in the breakfast room. Jones is taking Oscar something too. Has Ashley given you your schedule?”
“Oh yes. I'm early though, I don't need to shower and wash my hair for another hour and a half, plenty of time for tea and breakfast. Are you on schedule?”
“Oh yes. I checked with the kitchens earlier. Breakfasts are all being served from seven. Traditionally, the bride and groom aren't meant to eat until after the ceremony, but I don't want either of you passing out on me.”
“So you sneaked some up?” Lucy said. “Very wise. I get dizzy if I don't eat, and Oscar gets grumpy, neither of which would be particularly welcome.”
“There's also something I'd like to give you; well, to pass down really. It was given to me on my wedding day, by Oscar's grandmother. She said it would bring me luck. I thought it could be your 'something old.’ You don't have to wear it if you don't want to.” She reached down to a box which was on the lower shelf of the trolley and handed it to Lucy.
It was a leather-covered box, too large for a piece of jewellery, but the weight and feel of it indicated something of value would be inside. Lucy opened the lid. Inside, on a bed of purple velvet was a diamond tiara. It was exquisite. She pulled it out of the box and turned it over in her hands.
“Rumour was that it first belonged to Catherine Parr, worn when she married Henry the eighth. I'm not entirely sure how it came to be in our family, as the acquisition is a little murky, but it brought me good luck.”
“Brought her good luck too, it would seem,” quipped Lucy. She tried it on her head, it felt reassuringly heavy.
“I told Ashley I'd be surprising you with it, so the hairstylist already knows,” she added, “I didn't want him pitching a fit at a change being made.”
Lucy threw her arms around her and hugged her. “Thank you so much… for everything.”
“You too. I know you make my son happy, and that makes me happy,” she replied. “Now, eat up before it all gets cold. I'll go back downstairs and make sure everyone's getting fed. What time are your parents arriving?”
“About eleven.”
“I'll make sure Jones is on alert for them.”
Oscar and Darius decided to take a walk through the grounds, primarily to get out of the way as teams of hairdressers and makeup people began to arrive. They walked side-by-side until they were out of the gardens and walking the huge lawns of the outer grounds. “It's not too late for me to spring you out of here you know,” Darius joked. “What's on the other side of that wall?”
“Porenski's estate,” Oscar replied, “and he's got laser wire all along it. We'd probably get shot.”
“Thought he bought the Bonnington-Carter estate over the other side?”
“Yes, that too. He owns the land on both sides. He's just demolished the old mansion that was there. Think he's going to build a vast hi-tech monstrosity.”
“You're surrounded by the Russian mafia,” Darius said melodramatically. Oscar laughed.
“He's not a bad neighbour. His estates are so huge that I never even see him.”
“That's not so bad then,” Darius said. “So you're entirely sure about this marriage?” It was the same question that Oscar had asked when he'd been Darius' best man.
“As sure as I'll ever be.”
“And what's that supposed to mean?” Darius demanded.
“She's not THE love of my life, but she's the best choice as a wife,” Oscar said, rather cryptically. Darius was probably the only person he could admit that to.
“You mean she's not Elle, don't you?”
Oscar nodded.
“Elle's gone, married. You could hang around for the rest of your life hoping that she'll ditch the Ruskie. in the meantime, you'll have wasted your life waiting.” Darius was surprisingly fierce.
“I know,” Oscar muttered.
“Lucy's a good girl. She'll be a good wife. This… infatuation… you have with Elle, it's time to let it go, she's not for you.”
Oscar sighed. He knew Darius was right. He was just glad that Elle had proved true to her word and never disclosed what had happened that night. He'd had a hell of a job convincing Darius not to bump her off. Even so, he was nervy about her, especially given who she'd married.
“Ok, but I don't need an escape plan, just so you know. By the way, has Arabella checked your speech?”
“Oh yes, mind you, she left in that funny story about how I dragged you out of that Paris brothel at the last minute, wearing just your underpants.”
“No she didn't. Arabella's way too prim to let you tell that story. It places you in that brothel too remember.”
“Oh yea. I'd better go back and re-write it then.”
They both laughed as they headed up the path back to the house.
Inside the castle was a hive of activity. The staff, mostly employed by the caterers for the day, were setting up tables laden with champagne flutes and ice buckets in the grand hallway, where guests would be greeted by Lady Golding and Mr and Mrs Elliot. Ashley fluttered around with his clipboard, checking details and barking orders. From the reception hall, they'd be led out, through the blue drawing room, out into the grounds and through the sculpture garden to the Synagogue where the ushers would show them to their seats. The guests who had stayed at the castle the night before had already been briefed during breakfast as to timings and seating. Ashley was determined it would all run like clockwork. He'd even scolded the Prost-Winston children for running around during breakfast, calling them ‘savages.'
As Ivan and Elle arrived, flanked by Nico and Roger, Elle was surprised to see the hallway all decked out with massive displays of cream and white roses. “This must've cost a fortune,” she whispered to Ivan as they made their way through to the gardens, following the other guests.
He nodded, taking it all in.
They admired the sculptures dotted around the garden as they sipped their champagne, which for Elle would be the first of only two glasses she'd allow herself. Ivan made a bee-line for the shade of a large copper-beech, where he could observe quietly. Unfortunately it wasn't long before he was recognised by the Foreign Minister and was forced to make small talk.
At half-twelve, a man in black morning suit banged a small gong to get everyone's attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, your presence is requested in the synagogue please.” Dutifully, everyone began to troop in.
They were seated several rows back from the front, in the middle of the row, with Roger and Nico put at the back, alongside the other security men who were guarding the various heads of state who were present. Ivan wasn't too worried, guessing correctly that a full security risk assessment and sweep would've been done before the Chancellor of Germany, the Sultans of Brunei and Saudi Arabia, and the American Secretary of State had arrived.
Elle looked around. She'd never seen inside the synagogue, wrongly assuming it was just an old family chapel. She'd expected dusty old pews and a bare stone floor. “This really is a show of wealth isn't it?” She whispered.
“Should we have one built in our house then?” Ivan asked, confused. he'd rather show his wealth in the house itself, rather than locked away and used rarely. Elle shook her head, amused.
“I'd rather spend our money on a fuck-off indoor pool,” she whispered. He flashed his film-star smile.
“Agreed,” he said, pleased that they were in agreement. He was also delighted that she'd called it 'our money' for a change, rather than ‘his,' as she usually did. He looked around the room, watching as the great and good of society arrived to take their places. The thought struck him that he was now part of it, recognised by the people around him, some of whom smiled and waved as they spotted him.
Part of the British Establishment. Not bad for a poor boy from the slums of West Biryulevo, he thought.
His eyes were drawn to a display cabinet behind the canopy thing that had been set up at the front. Six eggs glistened with gilding and enamelling, lit up rather cleverly from above. In amongst all the artworks and artefacts surrounding them, the six, small eggs shone out. He wished he could get closer for a better look. He nudged Elle and pointed towards them.
“Oh, I thought they were meant to be a secret,” she said. Ivan's head whipped round to face her.
“Secret? Are they what I think they are?”
“Yes. They normally live in the garden room. Oscar showed them to me on a tour once. The middle one, the purple one, that's my favourite.”
“He's got six of them? How? They never come on the market.” He was starting to get agitated. In his opinion, Fabergé eggs should be in Russian hands. They were part of the Russian heritage, examples of the great craftsmanship of the motherland.
“He told me that his grandfather had bought them off Lenin, when they were strapped for cash after the revolution,” Elle told him. She could see he was becoming agitated. She placed her hand on his knee, which always calmed him down. “He won't sell them, there's no point in asking, and I think they're kept very secure here,” she warned him.
“I'm not gonna steal them,” Ivan hissed, “What do you take me for? I'm wondering if he'd sell them.”
“I can tell you right now that he won't,” she hissed in reply. She wondered why they were out on show, especially after she'd been asked to keep their existence secret from Ivan. She didn't know that it was Lady Golding who'd thought that they'd add to the opulence of the synagogue, and had forgotten to mention it to Oscar.
When all the seats were filled, Oscar and Darius appeared, striding down the aisle to take their places at the front, underneath the canopy. Oscar looked around the room, smiling to several people. He caught sight of Elle and Ivan, which made his heart lurch. “Forget her,” whispered Darius. “And who put your pretty eggs out on display? There must be at least half a dozen people in here plotting how to nick them.”
Oscar followed Darius' gaze. Dammit, he thought. “Must've been mother.”
Seeing the two of them together made Elle's heart sink. She'd assumed that their 'friendship' had cooled after that terrible night, but watching their body language, seeing the way they leaned towards each other and how comfortable they were together, she was certain that nothing had changed. It was too late to warn Lucy, Elle realised, and a horrible sense of sadness washed over her.
“You look wonderful my darling girl,” Said Lucy's father as she emerged from her room. Her hair was curled into soft waves, with the front pinned up around the diamond tiara, with the veil cascading over it and down to the floor. Her slender, lithe figure was wrapped in a form-fitted column dress, encrusted with tiny seed pearls and crystals. She looked every inch the perfect bride.
“It's time to assemble everyone outside the synagogue,” said Ashley, checking his watch. “Five minutes to go.” He stood watching as the bridesmaids and pageboys trooped past, straightening ties and tweaking sashes as they went.
Michael, Lucy's father, offered his arm and led her down the wide, sweeping staircase with Ashley holding onto her veil to make sure it didn't get trodden on.
“Are you certain?” Her father asked as they stood on the steps of the synagogue while Ashley marshalled the children into their positions before making sure that her veil was perfectly in place.
“Absolutely certain daddy,” Lucy replied, almost overcome with the emotion of the last time her daddy would be looking after her.
Ashley spoke into his earpiece and the organist began to play Mendelssohn's Wedding March. As the sound filled the room, Lucy and her father began to walk down the aisle. Every head turned as they made their way to the ornately decorated chuppah to join Oscar and Darius.
Elle had never seen a Jewish wedding before, so struggled to follow proceedings. She didn't understand the significance of the betrothal with the wine, nor the Rabbi saying; “Behold, you are betrothed unto me with this ring, according to the law of Moses and Israel.”
Ivan began to fidget during the reading of the marriage contract, which seemed to take forever, and when they disappeared into the vestry with Darius and Lucy's brother to witness the signing of the contract, Ivan wondered if it meant it was all over and they'd just crept out the back.
When they came back in for the seven blessings and the breaking of the glass, by Oscar stamping on it, Ivan whispered that it was probably the last time Oscar would ever be able to put his foot down again, which made Elle snigger. She was grateful to Ivan for lightening the heavy heart she had, watching her friend marry a man with such a dark secret.
To Oscar, the whole ceremony had felt surreal, as though it was happening to somebody else and he was just an observer. He'd said and done all the right things at the correct times, of course, even with the rising sense of panic he'd felt in his gut.
Lucy wondered if anyone else had ever felt as happy and filled with joy as she felt during the ceremony. Oscar had looked so handsome in his morning suit, with his lifelong friend by his side, that she was fit to burst.
As they made their way back down the aisle, Lucy couldn't help herself beaming. She stole a glance at Oscar, who seemed to have a rather fixed smile on his face, which she put down to nerves.
The photographs seemed to Oscar to take forever. The photographer had chosen the long borders as the main backdrop, with some out on the large lawns of the outer garden. He even wanted to take a load of snaps near the lake, which meant a bit of a trek.
After the guests had posed for the group shots, the ushers marshalled them all into the ballroom to get them seated ready for the wedding breakfast. An hour later, Oscar, Lucy and both sets of parents arrived back, with all the bridesmaids and pageboys in tow, looking rather hot and bothered.
“This is really gonna be a long day,” Ivan grumbled as they waited for Lady Golding to stop yapping and take her seat so that the food could begin being served. He was starving hungry, given that it was already three o'clock and they hadn't eaten since breakfast.
The servers began to bring out the starter, meltingly soft scallops, cooked in butter and served with caviar and a tiny salad. It was gorgeous, and Elle wished that she wasn't so hungry, so that she could savour it slowly, rather than demolish it in two bites. Luckily the main course was served quickly, a rack of lamb with duchesse potatoes, fresh green beans and a cauliflower veloute. It was a spectacular meal, especially when the servers brought up the dessert, gold leaf-topped chocolate mousses with little tulles formed in the shape of the Golding coat of arms.
“Oscar sure knows how to organise a function,” Ivan said, taking it all in. He cast an appraising eye around the ballroom, checking out the chandeliers and the tasteful gilded plasterwork and made a mental note to talk to the Allans about having something similar at Maytrees.
“Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention please?” Darius' voice boomed out. “As best man, it's my duty to make a speech. I'll make it pleasantly short, so as not to delay the smokers racing out into the garden too long.” There was a titter. “The day I met Lord Oscar Golding was the first of September nineteen eighty-eight. We were seven years old and had just been dropped off at St Dunstan’s prep by our parents, which I'd found quite a traumatic experience. Oscar came up to me and told me to keep my chin up, assuring me that we would, in due course, formulate an escape plan.
We decided to make our getaway in the dead of night, by jumping over the wall. Now in reality, it was probably only about ten p.m., but at seven years old, with an eight o'clock lights out, it seemed very late.
What I discovered that night was that Oscar was indeed very good at escaping, managing to make it over without too much difficulty. Unfortunately, I didn't, being shorter and less... athletic… than he was. So there I was, scraping my knees trying to struggle over the wall, when we heard the voice of our housemaster in the darkness. Now Oscar could've kept quiet, or run away by himself, but he didn't. He stayed, clambering back over the wall to take his punishment alongside me. He became my best friend, and I've never been able to shake the old devil off ever since.” He waited for the polite laughter to die down.
“Every scrape I got into, every madcap idea, every major event, Oscar has either instigated it or egged me on. He was behind my arrest in Bombay, the reason we got chased across Brazil, and is single-handedly responsible for having made my life a thousand times more fun, more interesting and more exciting than it would've ever been without him. My hope for Lucy is that he does the same for her, minus the 'getting arrested' bit of course, and together they can bring out the very best in each other. So please, everyone, raise your glasses to Lucy and Oscar, Lord and Lady Golding.”
Applause rang out, filling the ballroom. “Who's he?” Ivan asked Elle.
“Darius Cavendish, Oscar's best friend. Works in the intelligence services.” As soon as she'd said it, she regretted it.
“Your secret contact?” Ivan stated. “Figures.”
Elle tried to listen to the rest of Darius' speech, but struggled to concentrate, acutely aware of Ivan's irritation at her revelation. A few moments later, Ivan leaned in and whispered; “He got me out from that kidnapping didn't he?”
Elle ignored him.
“Thought so,” he said. She dug her elbows into his ribs to shut him up, before picking up her glass again for Darius' toast to all the parents.
When the speeches were all finished, a string quartet struck up and people began to stand up and mill around, chatting to old friends and visit the loos. After waiting in the queue, accompanied by Roger, for fifteen minutes, Elle was finally comfortable and able to mingle. Back out in the ballroom, she spotted that Ivan was chatting with someone, a woman, with long, brunette hair trailing down her back in curls. As she approached, the woman turned slightly so that Elle could see her face.
Penny. Bloody. Harrison.
She stopped in her tracks.
Ivan looked happy, animated as he spoke to her, Elle watched as she laughed at something he said. She looked impossibly glamorous in a bright, Mediterranean-blue chiffon dress which skimmed her tiny waist, showing off her tall, lithe figure.
Rather than interrupt them and have to stand next to Penny, feeling fat and dumpy, Elle scanned the room for anyone she knew. Darius was nearby, having just taken another glass of champagne from one of the servers. “Loved your speech,” Elle said as she wandered up to him.
“Thank you. It was heavily edited by Arabella, so much so that it was really her speech. She wouldn't let me tell all the really funny stories about Osc.” He paused. “So how have you been?”
“Blooming,” Elle said, smiling at him. “Getting fatter each week.”
“Yes, congratulations, Oscar did tell me that you were expecting. Wonderful news. I bet your husband's thrilled?”
“Very much so. He wants an enormous family. I think it's a Russian thing.”
“Oh, I don't know, I think Oscar's hoping that Lucy fills this place up with small Goldings. He's hoping for a honeymoon baby. I'm still trying to convince Arabella that we've had enough time as just 'us' and we need to get cracking. She only wants two though.”
“Lucy will be a wonderful mother,” Elle said.
“Oh yes, I agree. She's such a warm, gentle person, perfect for Oscar. They met through you didn't they?” It was a subtle insult, but wasn't lost on Elle.
“Yes, they did. Well, I'd invited Lucy to the Law Awards, and Oscar was invited by our firm. We all shared a car, and, well, let's just say the rest is history.” She smiled at Darius to disarm him.
“Very fortuitous, also very helpful in repairing his broken heart. Poor man was really suffering. It was lucky that Lucy came along.” Darius was unemotional as he spoke, which only served to accentuate the meaning of his words. Elle shifted uncomfortably.
“I'd better get back to Ivan. Nice to see you again, especially under such happy circumstances.” She slipped in a sly dig of her own before hurrying back over to Ivan. Roger, who'd heard the whole exchange, frowned slightly.
Ivan had been mildly perturbed when Penny had touched his arm, making him jump, just as Elle had disappeared to the loo. He'd not seen her since the night he'd kicked her out of his house to go and rescue Elle. It turned out that she was there as somebody's plus one, a much older gentleman who was a financier, and knew Oscar through work.
“I missed you,” Penny said to him.
“Well, things move on,” Ivan replied. “I'm a married man now.” he paused. “I hope you're keeping well?”
She pulled a face. “A seventy-year old billionaire? Yeah, I'm doing alright I suppose.”
“The pool of billionaires is rather small,” Ivan said, which made her laugh.
“I should go to Silicon Valley really, plenty of them there.”
“Bit younger too,” said Ivan. She laughed again.
“Well yes, I must admit,” she leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “nobody can fuck as hard as you can. Nobody.”
He laughed. “You really are the devil in disguise. You know my wife is here with me today?”
Penny sniggered. “Says the man with eyes darker than midnight in Moscow. You can admit it, we had great sex together, didn't we?”
“We did. However, we won't again. My wife is far more a tiger than you, both in and out of the bedroom. I take my vows very seriously.” He was starting to get alarmed and didn't want to give her any false hope, as she'd been enough of a pain to get rid of the previous time he'd seen her. He graced her with his film-star smile and spotted Elle making her way through the crowd. “And here she is, my beautiful wife.” He stressed the word ‘wife,' just in case Penny was too stupid to understand that he was committed.
“She's expecting?” Penny said as she followed his gaze. “That was quick.”
“I have fast swimmers,” Ivan boasted.
“Clearly,” Penny purred, before turning and walking away, giving him a dismissive wave over her shoulder as she departed.
“Was that who I think it was?” Demanded Elle.
Ivan nodded. “Nobody of consequence. She's here with her boyfriend, a very elderly billionaire.”
“Figures,” said Elle. “An eighty-year old billionaire with a bad cough'd be right up her street,” she added, rather bitchily.
“Maybe her acting career stalled?” Ivan said, smiling at her scowling face. He loved it when Elle got jealous. “She is getting older.”
Lucy flitted from group to group, greeting everyone, agreeing that the speeches had been marvellous and the lunch had been divine. Darius' speech had actually bought a tear to her eye, so heartfelt and full of love and admiration for his best friend. Her father's speech had been wonderful too, making her smile with stories of her as a little girl and how delighted he was to welcome Oscar into the family.
“You ok, beautiful wife?” Oscar made her jump as he came up behind her, laying his hand on her shoulder. She softened into his touch.
“Wonderful, thank you, handsome husband,” she replied, kissing him softly on the cheek. “I'm trying to savour the day as much as I can. It's just going so fast. The ceremony seemed as though it was over in a flash.”
“Hmm,” Oscar was non-committal. “It's almost six. Last time I looked at my watch it was five to two. Another hour and dinner will start being served. Have you managed to speak to everyone yet?”
“Almost. I'm working my way around the room. You?”
Oscar shook his head. “I got cornered by the Duchess of Tewksbury and couldn't get away for at least twenty minutes. My mother had to pretty much prise her off. She wanted to give me 'marriage advice,’ which consisted of me mostly saying 'yes dear' to everything.”
Lucy laughed. “She means well.”
“Yes dear.”
They were interrupted by one of the Prost-Winston boys running around, his arms outstretched, making airplane noises. Oscar grabbed him by the arm just in time to prevent him running into a server who was bearing a tray full of champagne glasses.
“Enough!” Oscar barked at him, before delivering him out to where his parents were smoking in the garden. By the time he was back under the care of Marina and Hugo, he was sullen, having been roundly told off.
Lucy spotted Elle and waved to catch her attention before pushing her way through the throngs of people to go and say hello. “You look amazing, really beautiful,” Elle gushed as she kissed her cheek.
“A very beautiful bride,” Ivan added when it was his turn to peck her. “Oscar is a very lucky man.”
“Thank you,” Lucy said, as she sat down at their table. Like Elle, she needed to sit for a moment. Her shoes were starting to hurt, and her dress weighed a ton.
“Lovely service,” Elle said. “I didn't know that you were Jewish.” Lucy nodded.
“Jewish family, we're not devout though, a bit like how Oscar is, it's more a tradition thing. I thought that the synagogue was beautiful though.”
They were joined by Oscar, who flopped down gratefully onto the chair next to Lucy. “We were just complimenting Lucy on the wedding,” said Elle. “Doesn't she look gorgeous?”
“Very,” agreed Oscar, “now, does anyone need more drinks?” He asked, glancing at their empty glasses. He waved over a waiter.
“A soft drink for me please,” Elle said.
Oscar ordered a glass of apple and elderflower fizz for Elle and took glasses of champagne for the rest of them. “Your cellars will be a bit depleted after this,” Ivan said, sipping his drink. He deduced, correctly, that it was a vintage champagne.
“Have you seen how much is down there? We could throw parties like this every day for a year and not get through it all,” Oscar said.
Ivan laughed. “I was most impressed with the synagogue. I had no idea it was as lavish as it is.”
“Ah, that was mainly my great-grandfather’s doing. He was far more devout than subsequent generations.”
“Impressive,” said Ivan, “although I couldn't help but admire the eggs. I had no idea you had a collection.”
“Yes, my grandfather bought them. I gather Lenin needed some liquidity in a hurry. I have no idea who he stole them from. We don't normally have them out on show.”
“That's a shame,” said Ivan smoothly. “They deserve to be admired. You know that if you ever want to sell them...”
Oscar cut him off. “I'll never sell them. They're the centrepiece of the Golding collection. I'm always on the lookout for more, but sadly they never come onto the market these days.”
“I know,” said Ivan, “and if one ever did, you'd be fighting me for it. They should be in Russian hands, as they were when they were first created.”
Oscar laughed and clapped Ivan on the back. “I'm not sure that any are still in Russia these days. The Tsar and Tsarinas should have been more careful with them.”
“I agree,” Ivan said. “But that doesn't preclude them being owned by the sons of the Motherland.” He paused. “Would you mind if I took a closer look at them? Another time of course.”
“Not at all. When we get back from honeymoon.”
With that, Oscar and Lucy moved on to greet the Sultan of Brunei, who was seated at the next table, with his wife and eldest son, whom Oscar had gone to school with.
That night, as Ivan and Elle lay in bed talking about the festivities, he surprised her by stating; “I really, really want to own a Fabergé egg. I'd give it a beautiful room of its own in Maytrees.”
Elle thought about it for a moment. “Why? It's just a pretty egg,” she said, thinking of Darius' assessment of them.
“It's my heritage,” Ivan said, “and my children's. They'll grow up not knowing the Motherland, being English, not Russian. It's important that they know and understand the Russian ways.”
“Okay,” Elle replied, “keep looking out for one. There's nothing stopping you taking them to Russia on holidays though, show them the Hermitage and stuff.” She didn't really understand why Ivan would be bothered about such a thing, given that he'd run away from the place in terror.
“Hmm, maybe. Depends how safe it is.”
He could hear Elle's breathing deepen. “I'm glad we had our wedding the way we did.” He said quietly, not sure if she could hear him. He'd enjoyed the day, but couldn't have been bothered with all the people, the organisation that a wedding like that had required. By the end of it, both Lucy and Oscar had looked tired out from the endless small talk and smiling.
“Me too,” she managed to mumble, just before she dropped off.