Chapter Seventeen
The reception afterwards is a simple ‘do’ above a pub off Ealing Broadway, because I refused to let my parents contribute to that too. They’re already paying for the honeymoon – a week in the Lake District, at Dominic’s suggestion, far from the demands of our work – and I hate the thought of being any more beholden to them. It’s bad enough that we’ve agreed to move into the top floor of their house. Though Dominic’s right to say it gives us a chance to save up towards a deposit for our first home.
Mum and Dad are standing near the bar, looking uncomfortable. They’re more used to expensive hotels in Kensington than something this informal.
But it’s not that bad. The staff have made a real effort, with a gorgeous finger buffet, and champagne already being handed out on our arrival from the nearby church. Plus, there are sprays of green and white flowers everywhere, courtesy of Louise, who has been kindly helping out with arrangements.
After the inevitably rambling speeches and toasts, someone puts some soft rock music on and Dominic grabs my hand and whirls me up into an impromptu dance.
‘My beautiful bride,’ my new husband whispers in my ear, spinning me round and round until I’m dizzy. ‘I can’t wait to get you into bed, Mrs Whitely.’
‘Miss Bates,’ I correct him, breathless.
‘Oh God,’ he groans. ‘I forgot. You want to keep your maiden name and stay your own woman, not take on the heavy chains of patriarchy.’ His hand tightens around my waist and he pretends to leer down at me. ‘Though maybe it’s not such a bad idea. Now I can be a married man and still see Miss Bates on the side.’
I laugh. ‘Bad man.’
‘Your bad man.’
‘I’m just glad you went through with it and didn’t run away.’
Dominic tips his head to one side, perplexed. ‘Sorry?’
‘You should have seen your face. I thought you were about to faint.’
‘When?’
‘In the church.’
‘That’s another lifetime ago,’ he says. ‘Bloody place was freezing, anyway. And you were late arriving.’ He pauses. ‘I did get cold feet, though.’
My heart almost stops. ‘What?’
‘Yes. I thought my toes were going to develop frostbite, I was sitting in that damn pew so long.’
I laugh and breathe again. ‘Sorry about that. The hairdresser took ages.’
‘I was beginning to wonder if I should prepare a little speech. Just in case you didn’t show and I had to tell the congregation to go home without their finger buffet and champagne.’
‘I hope you would have kept the pressies, though.’
‘Absolutely.’ He grins at me. ‘We’re not giving anything back. Not even if we split up tomorrow. Have you seen that big parcel with the gold bow?’
My heart stutters, glancing towards the large pile of presents arranged at the back of the room. ‘The one with . . . with polka dot wrapping paper?’
‘That’s it. From Jasmine, apparently. I hope it’s a coffee machine.’ He leers again. ‘Hey, you never told me your cousin was so sexy. Bloody hell. I nearly had to beat the groomsmen off when she turned up at the church with Louise; she was getting mobbed. And once I’d had a peek, I could see why.’
‘Hey.’ I shove at his chest, mock-annoyed. ‘Married, remember?’
‘Oh yeah.’ He makes a face. ‘Damn.’
We both laugh and keep dancing. But I suddenly have two left feet, it seems, and Dominic has to stop me from colliding with the buffet table.
‘Careful,’ he whispers, and steers me back across the room.
His best man, Richard, is dancing with Louise. They make way as we sweep past, no doubt afraid I’m going to knock into them.
I’m not usually this clumsy.
Dominic was only joking, I tell myself, and try to calm down.
He’s mine now, I have to remember that.
All mine.
The reception is starting to wind down for the evening; the room is a little less crowded and my parents have already gone home, taking our wedding gifts with them for safe-keeping. Louise has called a taxi to take us to the hotel where we’re staying tonight. A little romantic interlude before we take a train up to the Lake District tomorrow, for a week at a rented cottage near the shores of Lake Windermere. I’ve been looking forward to it for ages.
I look across the room and see Dominic talking to Jasmine. It’s silly but I can’t help feeling ludicrously jealous, especially when he touches her arm, and she touches him back at once, smiling with genuine amusement. As if she is the bride, not me.
You never told me your cousin was so sexy.
Good grief.
I chug back the last of my wine and hand the empty glass to a passing waiter. I have to stop letting my imagination run away with me. Or we’re going to need marriage counselling at this rate. We haven’t even had our wedding night, and already I’m watching my husband for signs of infidelity.
Seconds later, Dominic bends to Jasmine’s ear, speaking above the loud, pumping beat of the music. I see Jasmine turn her head, staring up at him, wide-eyed.
As if he’s just told her something shocking.
‘Okay, it’s here,’ Louise says, bounding up to me, flushed and out of breath. She hands me a closed umbrella. ‘Quick, you’ll need this. It’s raining cats and dogs.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Your taxi, of course. To take you to your hotel? It’s waiting outside.’ She shakes her head, smiling. ‘Bloody hell, girl. Come on, shake a leg. How much wine have you had?’
‘Not enough,’ I mutter.
But Louise has already gone and doesn’t hear. She calls Dominic over with a frantic wave. ‘Taxi’s here. And the meter’s running.’
Dominic comes towards me and kisses my forehead. ‘Ready?’
I nod silently.
Jasmine has followed him, a look of consternation on her face. She glances at me, still frowning, then away. I get the impression she doesn’t want to talk to me. Which is odd, as she was madly talkative earlier in the evening, discussing her wild life in Birmingham and her passion for stock car racing.
What the hell did Dominic say to her?
‘I’ll grab my coat,’ Dominic says, then disappears towards the cloakrooms.
Louise runs after him. ‘Get mine too, would you?’ she calls. ‘Or I’m going to get soaked.’ Her hair is already wet, and she’s long since lost the tiara she was wearing at the ceremony. She must have been standing outside waiting for the taxi. Or popped out to talk to the driver when the cab finally arrived.
I’m left alone with Jasmine.
My cousin hesitates, then looks around at me, a question in her wide, dark eyes. But whatever she wants to know, it’s obvious she’s not going to broach the subject right now.
‘I’ve had a lovely time, Catherine,’ she says. ‘The wedding was such brilliant fun. Especially the speeches. Don’t know when I’ve laughed so much. Your dad’s sense of humour is a bit on the dry side, isn’t it?’ She pauses awkwardly. ‘Well, I hope you two have a great honeymoon up at the Lakes. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard the countryside is beautiful. Even at this time of year.’
I can’t stay quiet any longer. ‘Jasmine, what is it?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I saw you two together.’
She looks alarmed. ‘What?’
‘Don’t bother to deny it.’ I’m breathless with panic, worrying about what’s wrong, what she’s hiding from me. I grab her hands and squeeze them. ‘Please, what’s the matter? What did Dom say to you?’
‘N-nothing,’ she stammers.
‘Tell me, for God’s sake. I have to know.’
‘It’s nothing, honestly. I got a . . . a postcard, that’s all.’
‘A postcard?’
‘I thought it was a sick joke, so I just put it in the bin. That’s what I was telling Dominic.’
A sick joke.
‘What kind of postcard?’
She shrugs. ‘It was a picture of the Alps. Ski slopes, snow, those cute wooden houses, you know.’
I do know, and I stare at her in horror.
‘It was a prank, probably. That’s what Dom said when I told him. He didn’t want me to mention it to you.’ She squirms, looking uncomfortable under my intent gaze. ‘He said you’ve had some trouble recently too. People sending you weird shit.’
She tries to pull away, but I hold her hands tight. ‘Forget all that,’ I say. ‘I need to know what was written on the postcard.’
‘Dominic said not to—’
‘For Christ’s sake, tell me!’
She is surprised by my tone. ‘It was only a few words. But look, the postmark was Westminster. So it wasn’t actually from Switzerland, you know? Like I say, most likely some sick prankster . . .’
I can’t seem to catch my breath. ‘What did it say, Jasmine?’
‘It said, “I see you, Catherine”,’ she whispers.
I see you, Catherine.
‘And the signature?’
I already know what Jasmine’s going to say. But I refuse to believe it.
‘Rachel.’