The September sun rose though the morning mist, scattering the shadows in the village. The thatch of each tiny cottage glowed mustard bright, the windows winked orange gleams and the church tower began to blush.
It promised to be a lovely day, as soft as love and as tender as dreams.
The trees were ablaze with glory. Gypsy Autumn, tangy tangerine, yellow fiesta, hot-blooded red and lush burgundy.
The air tasted like wine on Janey’s tongue, the earth drifted with fragrance, the dew pressed cool lips against her skin. She embraced the sun with her arms and laughed with sheer exhilaration. It was nonsense, of course.
Bathe in the breath of a September dawn, and if the cock crows thrice nature will endow your marriage with a wealth of love, long life, and everlasting happiness.
Gypsy folklore.
The whole of the village seemed to take one quivering drawn out waking yawn. A hundred chickens began to cackle, geese honked, milk churns clanked, an engine started.
A cock crowed thrice!
She was smiling as she made her way home. The earth was a precious jewel. Spider webs were pearls of dew. Little ruby berries had replaced the flowers in the hedges, diamonds of mist sparkled where the sun touched.
I’ve bathed in the breath of a September dawn. The cock’s crowed thrice. I’ll be happy with Griff forever. What else could I desire, she thought.
* * * *
There was to be a wedding in the village and everyone had been invited to the reception in the garden of the big house.
Suits had been sent to the cleaners, hats trimmed with lace, dresses inspected for traces of last year’s Christmas pudding. Shoes were shone, corsets unearthed, nylons inspected for ladders, permanent waves applied. A ton of confetti was secreted in various pockets.
Gifts had been wrapped, an opportunity presented to get rid of Aunt Emily’s vase, or the leather desk set with glass inkpots that had been lacking a desk to recline on for the past thirty years.
‘He’s a doctor he’s bound to have a desk, don’t he? It polished up real nice, just like new.’
‘Lady Brenda is arranging the flowers herself. Roses picked from her garden. The church looks a real treat.’
‘Ada reckons the cake is going to be four tiers high.’
There was a derisive snort. ‘That Ada always was a show-off. Serves her right that young-un taking the prize off her this year. It might teach her to be a bit more humble in future.’
Lacy white stockings were slide up Janey’s legs.
Something old. The lead soldier, Lord William, was buried deep in her pocket.
A drift of white silk whispered against her skin.
Something new. A tiny gold Griffin hung on a chain at her throat, a gift of love.
Satin over silk, her hair elegant and smooth, courtesy of Dion and Stephen, who’d clucked and fussed over her and hadn’t quarreled once. Tendrils curled at the nape of her neck and pearls were threaded like dew drops on the spider webs. He gown was borrowed from the Edwardians.
Something borrowed. A lace edged handkerchief from Pamela at her wrist.
Satin button-up boots that pinched her toes.
Something blue. A provocative garter circled her thigh.
Saffy was adorable in pink with a posy of flowers - so proud of her white patent shoes that she kept tapping her feet and staring down at them with a smile. Susie, her long dress a deeper pink was self-conscious in her touch of make-up.
The veil was a white mist about her head and secured in a circle of pearls. A cascade of pink rose buds spilled from her hands down the skirt of her gown.
Is Griff nervous this day? Is he already at the church, standing at Devlin’s side? I shall be late of course, but not too late. It’s the bride’s prerogative.
Janey looked like a stranger in the mirror. She’d bathed in the September dew and she knew her marriage would be happy.
Then she was alone with her father. He looked so proud she thought her heart might break.
His voice was choked with emotion. ‘I love you, Janey. Be happy.’
There was a slow clip-clop of horses down the road. It was Brenda’s idea. The Victorian carriage emblazoned with Lord William’s family crest had gathered into itself a hundred years of dust. Repaired and refurbished for the occasion it creaked and groaned but was burnished bright.
Phil handled the reins with a casual aplomb, as if he’d been born to the job.
Church bells rang. There was a flowerbed of hats in the church. The organ wheezed Handel’s wedding march and there was a sudden flutter of nerves as faces turned her way. Her father’s arm supported her under her elbow. There were familiar faces, faces she loved – strangers’ faces, smiling at her, wishing her well.
A collective sigh went through the church, a long drawn out: ‘Ahhh ...’
Justin wriggled on Pamela’s lap. ‘Mum ... mum ... mum.’
The procession stopped whilst she leaned down and kissed him.
Griff was waiting, his face grave and his body reflecting the stillness inside him. He was perfectly at ease, tall and elegant. His dark eyes sought hers, pulled her towards him like a magnet. Their hands met - each seeking the other like twin souls.
Devlin took a step back.
The vicar beamed a smile at her and nodded at Griff. His balding head shone in the light streaming through the window as he began to speak in a strong resonant voice.
‘We are gathered together in the sight of God.’
Her father was giving her away – giving her to Griff just when they’d found each other.
Outside, a taxi pulled to a halt. The passenger was man in his mid-twenties, tall, clean-shaven and handsome.
‘Wait, would you, man?’ he instructed the driver.
The cabbie watched him walk towards the church and slip inside.
‘ ... let them speak now, or forever hold their peace.’
Clear green eyes roved over the congregation then came to rest on the bride.
‘Do you, Jane Elizabeth Renfrew ...?’
She was gorgeous, the sight of her stunned him.’ His mouth twisted into an ironic smile. Doc Tyler of all people ... if he had to lose out it couldn’t have been to a better man,
‘I do.’
‘Do you, Griffin Philip Tyler ...?’
Doc Tyler’s eyes sought Janey’s, his love glowing transparent for all to see as he spoke to her alone.
‘I do.’
‘With this ring I thee wed.’
A small girl in a pink dress caught his eye. His smile became tender. ‘Saffy,’ he murmured. She resembled her mother, but her eyes were as clear and green as his was.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.’
Such love in their eyes. She’d never looked at him like that. It was time to make himself scarce.
Half-hidden behind a tree he watched them emerge, watched the mill of people laughing and chattering, posing for photographs, the confetti floating in the air. Janey’s happiness made him ache. The way Griff kissed her and the way she responded made him die inside.
Saffy was dancing on the grass, her dress floating out around her like the petals of a flower. She tripped over a tussock and fell flat on her face.
It was Doc Tyler who picked her up and cuddled her tight. Doc Tyler who dried her tears and made her laugh again. She called him daddy.
Damn his grandfather! Drifter thought, why had he been so weak? He should have defied him like he did over active service. Vietnam! He was dreading Vietnam, but too many of his countrymen had died and he’d felt guilty sitting behind a desk.
Then the crowd moved away, some following after the horse and carriage on foot, others getting into cars.
Devlin drove off with a classy looking chick. Devlin had delivered Janey’s message and his eyes had been cruelly amused when he’d watched him unwrap the painting. At least he hadn’t got her. Doc Tyler he could forgive.
A man gave him a cursory glance as he walked by, a man so ordinary looking Drifter forgot what he looked like before he was out of sight.
* * * *
Darius Taunt! John Smith felt a twinge of guilt until he recalled how Griff and Janey had looked at each other in the church. Then he smiled and put it out of his mind.
The church grounds were empty now. Drifter wandered over to where Saffy had fallen – to the white object lying on the grass.
A tiny shoe made of shiny material with a pink rosebud on it. He held it to his cheek for a second, smiled, then slipped it in his pocket and sauntered back towards the waiting cab.
Copyright © 2003 by Janet Woods
Originally published by Robert Hale [UK]
Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.BelgraveHouse.com
Electronic sales: ebooks@belgravehouse.com
This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.