Chapter Twenty-Six
The Toasts
Julia stood at the back of the cathedral, her bridesmaids, Lizzie and Ruby, milling around her and Will yanking nervously at his collar but still looking quite dapper in his morning suit.
She’d peeked into the church to see Douglas and Oliver line up at the front and to watch Will escort Patricia to her seat. Patricia was wearing such an enormous, baby pink hat, replete with ruffles and rosettes, that Julia wondered how her mother managed to manoeuvre herself down the aisle without toppling over. Her nephew then turned and tried not to (but definitely did) scurry back to Julia.
It was Julia and Douglas’s wedding day.
Monique was not in attendance, she sent word she was deathly ill with the flu.
Julia couldn’t have been more pleased at the news but she tried to hide her reaction when she saw the dark look that crossed Douglas’s face, though, he said not a word.
The very proud looking Kilpatricks sat in the front row on Douglas’s side, next to Charlotte and Nick, with Sam and Ronnie (and their boyfriends) and Carter and his daughter sitting behind.
Julia thought happily that was a far better representation of Douglas’s family than Monique would ever be.
Both sides of the church were filled to capacity. Julia had protested the guest list but Douglas demanded that every business and social acquaintance he had be present.
“If I could,” he whispered into her neck one dark night, “I’d have the world watch me make you mine.”
It was, of course, an atrociously possessive thing to say but who was she to argue?
For her part, a great number of her family and friends were there, mainly because Douglas had bought every seat on a commercial jet flying from O’Hare to Heathrow. That gesture made the trip a great deal more affordable for a lot of people.
Finishing this assemblage, there was enough paparazzi outside to make the BAFTAs look tame in comparison.
Julia was wearing what Gregory termed his “masterpiece” (in a short time, she had become known widely as Gregory’s “muse”).
Her wedding gown was a simple, long, backless, sleeveless, boat necked, ivory silk dress, the silk being the most extraordinary material Julia had ever touched. Cut on the bias, it fit superbly, flowing all the way down to her feet where the very pointed toes of her ivory pumps peaked out. The back hem fell in a graceful train three feet long. She wore ivory gloves up to her middle upper arms, a choker made of four rows of pearls separated by bars of diamonds imbedded in platinum, a matching bracelet and a set of earrings that had a teardrop pearl suspended from a beautiful diamond (this an “early” wedding gift from Douglas making her wonder what the “during” and “after” wedding gifts would be – for her part, she carried with her a secret that was Douglas’s present that she prayed he would adore). She carried a bouquet made completely out of perfect white roses.
As usual in Julia’s life, the day had not run smoothly (to say the least).
She had started it in her rooms surrounded by her girlfriends from Indiana and England, everyone wanting to help but doing nothing but getting in the way. Charlotte, Gregory and Patricia had a fight over how Julia was going to wear her hair even though Julia and Sylvie, the stylist, had long since decided on a style.
“She must wear it up, something soft, with curls at the back and tendrils around her neck with baby’s breath,” Patricia demanded (and Julia thought it sounded like something a girl would wear to a prom).
“Down! Straight! Edgy!” Gregory clipped out, speaking (as per usual) in as many exclamation-point-ending, one-word phrases as he could (Gregory, at last, a match for Patricia’s dramatics).
“A sleek, elaborate up-do, with the front of her hair parted severely, smoothed over and tucked in…” Charlotte declared and then went on for several more words.
Julia let Charlotte win because that was the closest to what Sylvie and Julia had decided and because Charlie happened to be the editor of a glossy fashion magazine and likely knew what she was talking about.
Then Patricia decided she was not sure about the gloves.
Then Patricia launched into her (oft-heard) lecture about how high heels would ruin your back.
Then Patricia doubted the wisdom of having only one wedding colour, ivory, saying they should add a last-minute infusion of something else, like pink.
And so on.
Before preparations to her toilette began in earnest, Douglas had walked into Julia’s rooms causing Patricia to shriek and Gregory to hyperventilate, waving his hand in front of his face like a wilting Southern belle.
“You can’t see her before the wedding!” Patricia exclaimed, her voice shrill.
Douglas ignored his very-soon-to-be mother-in-law and just stared at Julia with an intense ferocity that she had learned from experience looked at lot worse than it was. Before he could say what he came to say, Julia spoke mainly because she’d had enough.
“You sure you want to do this? You’ve got a good fifteen, twenty years having to put up with this crazy old bat.” She indicated her mother with a frustrated jerk of her head.
“Well, I never!” Patricia cried.
“I wish!” Julia retorted.
Charlie giggled.
Julia swung back to Douglas. “If you’re going to pull out, pull out now. It’s not too late. You’re rich enough, you can buy us an island where we can live in sin and install ground-to-air missiles to shoot her down should she try to chopper in.”
Apparently Douglas decided whatever he came to say that had caused that intense look was not nearly as important as exiting the room with all due haste.
Which he did but only after he quirked an arrogant brow at her while he awarded her with one of his diabolically sexy grins.
The Night of the Russians (as Julia now referred to it) or Archie and Ruby’s Release (which was another way she liked to term it) or Villainous Valentine’s Day (another of her favourites) ended with nearly more drama than it began.
Not five minutes after Lady Ruby and Archie had faded from sight, the police crashed through the house in a noisy rush, one of them actually breaking through the glass of the French doors. This caused everyone, already tense, to go wired.
Roddy Kilpatrick aimed his shotgun.
Nick pulled the knife out of the back of Douglas’s belt and waved it about threateningly.
And Douglas thundered, “Is this what you call ‘proceeding with caution’?”
Luckily they recognised Douglas and there was no further bloodshed.
Some high up official from some government organisation that outranked the police came not long after and took control of the situation. There was no press, only interviews with all involved (and signed gag orders masquerading as “confidentiality agreements”) and dozens of people milling about taking pictures, gathering evidence, removing bodies or hauling others off to hospital.
It all seemed very curious to Julia but evidently this was somewhat of an international incident and the Russians wanted the criminals (or what was left of them) returned with as little muss and fuss as possible, issuing fervent apologies along the way.
Douglas was treated at the scene, a flesh wound to the upper arm that was stitched together by the same doctor who had come the last time.
Nick was taken to hospital for observation for a concussion. He’d been unconscious for quite some time and even though at first he refused, both Julia and Mrs. K nagged him until it became obvious that he could either go or expire due to extreme molly-coddling. Furthermore, what caused him to go down was a bullet that had ricocheted off something in the hall, grazing him in the back (also requiring nothing but a few stitches) but not entering his body. Remarkably, it glanced off a rib but with enough force to knock him off his feet and bang his head.
This caused him to slap his ribs and gloat, repeatedly, for weeks, “Bones of steel,” anytime he saw Julia and Douglas.
Carter came home and promised to guard the house and Lord knew the children were safe with the shotgun-wielding Roddy. No one could really inhabit the house considering the number of bloodstains, broken doors, gunshot holes and shotgun blasts and it would likely take Mrs. K at least a day (maybe two), to sort out all the damage.
Once Douglas had cleaned himself up and changed clothes, he whisked Julia off to Bath anyway even though it was long past time to enjoy any kind of Valentine’s Day celebrations. He seemed not to realise that evening’s dramatics may have been an everyday occurrence for him but not for Julia.
On the way to Bath Douglas briefly, curtly and in no detail (because, he told her, in all seriousness, if he went into detail, there was a good possibility he would have to kill her, or, if not him doing the deed, someone else would) explained something about the MI6 (or MI5, she didn’t hear him correctly and was too scared to ask), Russians, the mysterious two-year disappearance (training and undercover work) and white slavery.
There was a quick, impersonal account about Veronika, but Julia read between the lines and realised he’d saved her from a fate worse than death (thus Julia understood Ronnie’s declaration of New Year’s Night that Douglas was her hero, this caused a bit of the frightened-to-death, oh-my-God-we’re-all-going-to-die feeling to melt away, but just a bit).
Nick was definitely involved and somehow, along the way, Carter was involved too (indeed, he’d recruited Douglas).
Douglas assured her, just as briefly and curtly, that he nor Nick and most definitely not Carter (“Retired,” Douglas had grunted) were currently or would ever again be involved in what he called “the job”.
Feeling (accurately) that he needed to leave it at that, she allowed him to do so but it was very, very hard.
She just had to trust him.
And she did.
Upon entering their room at the Royal Crescent Hotel, long past the time they should have been there, Douglas simply undressed Julia, undressed himself and pulled her into bed with him.
To sleep.
Facing her, he lifted one of her legs to drape over his hip and pulled her in his arms, tucking her head under his chin.
Regardless of this intimate position, with no apparent amorous intentions, he closed his eyes.
He muttered no seconding to his (somewhat wonderful) avowals of love. He didn’t mention the fact that his childhood home had nearly erupted like a volcano. Or that he’d witnessed the ghosts of two dead lovers fade to heaven.
“Um,” she muttered against his neck, “what are you doing?”
“Sleeping,” was his weary reply.
He wasn’t sleeping because he was speaking but she thought it best not to point that out.
Instead, she asked, “Now?”
“I’m tired.”
Julia fidgeted. The adrenalin was still coursing through her body.
“Well, now I can say I’ve seen it all. Nothing seems to slow you down but I guess mortal combat, experiencing your ancestral home shake off an evil curse and witnessing the passionate reunion of two dead lovers finally has stalled the Great Douglas Ashton, Baron Blackbourne, ruthless business tycoon and secret agent –”
“Be quiet, Julia.”
“I love you, Douglas.”
His arms tensed fiercely, crushing her to him. He held her for long moments then his arms loosened but they didn’t go away.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered but this order was gentle.
“Okay,” she obeyed on a whisper because even though it was an order, she liked the way it sounded.
And somehow his calm communicated itself to her, she felt the tenseness of the night drain away and she did as he commanded.
He’d loved the cufflinks and she’d adored the rubies.
They’d managed to keep it all from the children (and Ronnie) due to a quickly orchestrated dash to London which the children had to be pulled out of school for so they could be fitted for their dresses and morning suit for the nuptial festivities.
When they returned, the plaster and doors were fixed and there were no bloodstains to be found.
Several days later, while Julia was at her new consultancy, Douglas ordered Ronnie to move all of Julia’s things to his rooms.
When Julia arrived home later than normal, she found no one waiting for her in the kitchen. Upon quick inspection of the house, she finally entered the last place she expected to find anyone, Douglas’s sitting room.
He was on the couch, his briefcase open on the table in front of him, papers spilled everywhere and his mobile at his ear. His eyes came to her the minute she walked in and, even though they warmed, they were also wary.
Will was doing his homework sitting at the desk in the corner.
Mrs. K and Ronnie’s disembodied voices came from the bedroom and Julia tore her gaze away from Douglas and wandered through the door dazedly.
“There’s nothing for it, we’ll have to build a bigger closet,” Mrs. K’s voice came from an opened door that Julia knew was Douglas’s dressing room.
“She has many shoes,” Ronnie noted.
Ruby was jumping on Douglas’s bed and Lizzie was lying on it telling her to stop.
“May I ask what’s going on?” Julia’s voice was both bewildered and dangerous.
Will ran through and jumped on the bed, bowling over Ruby, making Ruby shriek and Lizzie groan.
Julia felt Douglas come up behind her and was about to whirl on him when Ruby informed her knowledgeably, “You’re moving in with Unka Douglas, just like Mummy and Daddy. Mummy and Daddy always slept together.”
Neither Lizzie nor Will had any reaction to this in any way, shape or form.
It was then she whirled on Douglas.
“You…” she started.
He caught her by the waist, pulled her to him and laughed, burying his face in her neck.
“I love you, darling,” he said, clearly and distinctly, the first time he’d said it since The Night of a Thousand Russian Horrors (another one of her favourites) and the first time he said it in front of the children.
Her back was to them but she could feel their eyes on her and Douglas.
But she was too busy nearly dying in rapture at the sound of those words and she felt herself dissolve into happy laughter.
“I don’t know why because you’re such an arrogant, underhanded cad, but I love you too, sweetheart,” Julia replied.
This scene was something with which the children were very familiar. They settled comfortably in the bed, annoying each other to the extreme while Douglas nuzzled Julia’s neck, Ronnie and Mrs. K eventually gave up on the shoes and Mrs. K left the room to call the carpenter.
* * * * *
The music had started in the Cathedral, the beautiful strains of the organ filling the air.
It was time to begin the wedding.
Ruby was first to have her turn up the aisle. She was wearing her pretty ivory dress with puffed sleeves, big tulle petticoats and a hem that dripped lace. It was completed with a wide, white-satin sash tied in a bow in the back.
She was supposed to be littering the aisle with white rose petals but halfway to her destination, she spotted her uncle and shouted, “Unka Douglas!” as if she didn’t expect him to be anywhere near the Cathedral that day or even in the country (and hadn’t been practising her role for a month). She threw aside her basket of petals and dashed forward, throwing herself against him as the congregation twittered.
“She’ll ruin everything,” Will hissed at Julia’s side, his nerves in tangles.
Julia bent, not nearly as far as she had to ten months ago, to look him in the eye. “She’s just being Ruby and it doesn’t ruin the day, honey, it makes it perfect.”
“If you say so,” Will grumbled dubiously, clearly too overwhelmed by his looming responsibility to find rambunctious Ruby perfect at anything.
Lizzie, however, was perfect, serenely gliding up the aisle like she was a professional bridesmaid. She too was wearing ivory, a younger girl’s version of Julia’s dress (except not backless). It fell neatly in a column to just above her ankles. With it she wore gloves and a matching double-strand choker of pearls at her throat, wrist and tiny teardrop earrings (Douglas’s “early” birthday present to Lizzie whose birthday just happened to be in July).
Julia saw that Douglas decided to calm Ruby by picking her up and positioning her at his hip to give her the best vantage point of the proceedings. Julia found this, too, endearing and her heart melted at the sight.
Then again, she found almost everything about Douglas endearing.
However, upon entering the aisle out of nowhere an unbidden wave of melancholia overwhelmed Julia.
She was afraid something like this would happen and as she walked hesitantly forward, she tried to focus on Douglas. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t contain her trembling lips, her heart beating like a jackhammer, her legs feeling like jelly and her hand clutching Will’s arm with vice-like pressure, all the while her throat burning like fire.
“You okay, Auntie Jewel?” Will asked out of the side of his mouth, wincing at her grip on his arm.
Halfway up the aisle Julia halted. Ignoring the gasps of the crowd, she turned to her nephew and put her hand on his cheek. Again, she bent toward him.
“I didn’t say it before, when you told me you’d give me away, but I’m going to say it now. I miss your Dad with everything that is me, but I’m so proud you’re here with me now,” she whispered to him, her eyes filling with tears.
Will stared at her a moment then gulped back his emotion, nodded slowly and finally shot a sidelong glance up the aisle.
“Um, Uncle Douglas looks kinda mad,” he whispered, his face bright red.
Julia jerked upright and saw that Douglas didn’t look mad, he looked furious. He’d put down Ruby (she was now standing by a bewildered-looking Lizzie) and was scowling at Julia.
Julia fairly raced up the aisle, pulling Will along with her.
“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered when she reached him, avoiding his eyes, “we were having a moment.”
“Perhaps, in future, you’ll pick the timing for your ‘moments’ better,” Douglas replied dryly and her eyes flew to his.
His were carefully blank.
Julia’s heart sank.
“Er, shall I start the ceremony?” the Bishop asked in a low voice.
Douglas quirked a brow at the same time Julia cried, “Yes!”
After this incongruous start, Will’s performance at giving her away was superb.
With Julia’s hand held firmly in Douglas’s (very firmly) the Bishop started the ceremony.
Julia muttered under her breath, “I’m sorry, Douglas-honey, I got a little overwhelmed with missing Gavin. It just came over me.”
When the endearment came from her lips, the first time she’d ever used it when addressing him, Douglas’s lithe body froze, statue-still and Julia misinterpreted it as anger.
She thought of his father, his mother, their hideous treatment of him and what he likely thought was her disrespect in the aisle.
She turned to him and vowed fervently (if a little hysterically), “If someone was choking you in Sommersgate, I’d spend all night trying to claw my way in, even if it killed me, I swear to God!”
At this dramatic pronouncement, Douglas turned only his head in her direction and she realised the Bishop had stopped talking again.
“Darling, would you care to be quiet long enough for us to get married?” Douglas asked politely.
Julia could have happily had the floor open up and engulf her at that moment.
“Yes, yes, definitely,” she turned to the Bishop and nodded at him encouragingly while giving him a shaky smile.
The Bishop looked at Douglas for a shade longer than was necessary, obviously giving him time to run from the Cathedral, but Douglas stood true.
When Julia looked out the corners of her eyes at her intended to gauge just how furious he was, she saw his lips twitching with humour and her breath left her in relief. She leaned into him, resting her body against his side and she let her head drop to his shoulder.
The Bishop started talking faster, his eyes widening at this new affront to tradition and decorum.
But Julia was finished making a fool of herself and the only thing that caused her to be anything but deliriously happy (and it was only to cause her to be even more deliriously happy) was when Douglas’s deep voice rang out in the cathedral when he said his vows and when he said, “I do.”
It might not have been the near-shout Gavin had used but it was damned close.
And although Gavin had given Tamsin a mighty kiss when they were pronounced man and wife, the entire congregation at Wells Cathedral shifted uncomfortably in their seats when Douglas kissed Julia.
It was not decorous and befitting a church.
It was long and hungry with possession, branding her as his in the eyes of God (literally) and everyone else and it left Julia swaying, dazed and utterly, thrillingly, rapturously, ecstatically happy.
* * * * *
“I heard this house was frightful and actually haunted but it seems lovely to me.” A woman Julia didn’t know was speaking to her at the wedding reception which was being held at Sommersgate.
Julia nodded and stared in vague alarm out the French doors of the old entryway at a ten foot tall ice sculpture of swans sitting in the middle of the garden, their bills pressed together to form a heart.
She had heard no discussion about ice sculptures.
“If a little… ornate.” The woman was still talking.
With a smile, Julia turned her attention to the woman and explained, “There are no ghosts here…” she smiled and winked before she finished, “anymore.”
Before there was a chance for the woman to reply, there was a tinkling of glasses indicating that a toast was soon to be made.
Julia and Douglas had decided against a formal meal and traditional reception with the traditional toasts. Heavy hors d’ouevres and an even heavier open bar, good company and good conversation were all they were to provide. Julia simply wanted a party, a joyous celebration and nothing tired and staid.
Therefore she was a bit surprised that the glasses were being tapped for a toast and she looked to the stairs where Douglas stood on the sixth step.
Once the congregation quieted, Douglas said across the expanse, “Could I ask my wife to join me, please?”
A thrill ran down her spine at being referred to as his “wife” and she turned to the lady and murmured, “If you’ll excuse me, my husband wants me.”
“Of course,” the woman replied, smiling brightly into Julia’s glittering eyes.
Julia wended her way through the crowd all the while her eyes on Douglas and his on her. When she was close to the foot of the staircase, he came down to meet her (complete with a brush of his lips against hers) and then he helped her climb the steps to resume his position over the crowd.
Nick quickly approached holding three full glasses of champagne and Douglas took two, handing one to her.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. “I thought we agreed there would be no toasts.”
“We agreed that no one else would make any toasts but I can say what I want in my own house,” Douglas returned, the warmth in his eyes showing he was teasing.
There was a time when she would not have believed that Douglas Ashton could tease.
But he could, very well.
She beamed at him, too happy to be cross, and then turned to the crowd and linked her arm through his.
“Firstly,” Douglas’s strong voice carried throughout the cavernous space, “I’ll tell you that my wife is rather fond of lists so I’ve decided to take my cue from her and recite a list of toasts. I ask you to charge your glasses because there will be several before I reach the end.”
Julia felt a blush creep in her cheeks at the fondness in his tone and leaned into his side. Some of the hired staff (because all of the Sommersgate regulars were guests this day) were wandering around carrying two bottles of champagne each and filling glasses, others were carrying heavy trays on which filled glasses rested for those who had no drinks at all.
Finally, Douglas started, “I would like to thank you all for coming and celebrating this very special occasion.”
“A long time coming,” Patricia grumbled loudly and people laughed.
Douglas wisely decided to ignore her.
“I would also like to take this opportunity to thank Mr. and Mrs. Roderick Kilpatrick for their years of service to myself and my home. They have been faithful to me and my family in more ways than we often deserved. They have been exceedingly kind and welcoming to my wife and my new family and I,” he turned to Julia, “we are lucky to have them. To Roddy and Margaret Kilpatrick.”
He lifted his glass and Julia watched his gorgeous throat as he drank down a sip. She was already near tears, her hand clutching at her husband’s arm. She swiftly took a drink and turned her eyes to the Kilpatricks who were both visibly moved by his toast (indeed, Mrs. K’s eyes shone with tears).
Before she could respond further, Douglas began speaking again.
“I publicly acknowledge the interference of Charlotte Forsythe, interference which greatly hastened this day.” Julia watched Douglas’s chin dip to look at Charlie and he finished. “Thank you, Charlie.”
The last three words were said more quietly as Charlie was standing at the foot of the stairs and they were directed warmly to her.
Julia noted, as the tears pricking the backs of her eyes began to spill, Charlie’s own tears were falling over. The congregation twittered in curiosity but they took their cue from Douglas who lifted his glass in a salute to Charlie and took a sip.
“To Charlie!” Oliver shouted and everyone concurred.
Charlie’s toast complete, Douglas carried on. “I must pay tribute to Patricia Fairfax, a good woman, a fine mother and a wonderful grandmother who has accepted me readily into her family, a position I hold with great honour. To Patricia,” he toasted and Julia gave up the pretence of attempting to control herself and, letting the tears flow freely, she wrapped her arm around Douglas’s waist and went up on tiptoe to put her mouth to his ear.
“I love you,” she whispered, as he shifted his own arm around her waist to hold her tightly.
His only response was to kiss her temple then he looked back to the crowd and continued. “And now, to Elizabeth, William and Ruby Fairfax, who have, these last months, showed great courage and strength. Could you three please join your aunt and me?” Without further coaxing, the children melted out of the crowd and self-consciously (except Ruby who barrelled up to the steps with great vigour) joined them on the stairs. “I ask you all to lift your glasses to the courage of my nieces and nephew.”
“Here, here!” Roddy Kilpatrick sang out.
“To Lizzie, Will and Ruby!” Nick shouted.
Mrs. Kilpatrick and Ronnie burst into loud tears.
Everyone toasted and took their sips and Douglas continued. “And lastly, I should toast my beautiful wife but I will salute her in an altogether different way later.” He turned to give her a sexy smile and Julia’s cheeks, already pink with emotion, flamed. He turned back to the crowd. “I will finish with a toast to two people who could not be here today. To Gavin and Tamsin Fairfax who bestowed on us the great honour of rearing their children in their absence and, in so doing, led me to Julia. I cannot find words to express my gratitude so I shall not try.” When everyone began to lift their glasses to drink, Douglas went on. “But especially to my sister, who always had faith in me, who was, in every way, a kind and loving soul, the light in an often dreary life. To Tamsin Fairfax!” His voice rang loud and Julia forced her face into his neck, too overcome to join in the shouts to Tammy.
“Thank you all,” Douglas, finally, (and thankfully, Julia could take no more) was finished. “Please continue to enjoy –”
“Hold on a blasted minute.”
Douglas quieted and Julia peaked out from her hiding place to see Patricia shouldering her way through the crowd. Luckily she’d divested herself of her hat or she might have caused injury.
“I have something to say,” she announced upon arrival at the step.
The children were shifting uncomfortably and Julia stiffened at whatever dramatic pronouncement might come out of her mother’s mouth. Douglas, however, was the soul of amiability and he smiled, actually smiled (and warmly too) at his new mother-in-law.
Patricia smiled back and turned to the crowd.
“I’ve been waiting fifteen years to do this, as long as it took him to figure out he was in love with my daughter. He may have a head for business and a reputation for quick decisions but I’m here to tell you, there are some ways he can be very slow.”
The crowd laughed but if Julia was stiff before, she was rock solid now. She would not allow her mother to badmouth her husband in front of hundreds of guests. She was about to interrupt when her mother continued.
“But, the longer we wait, the sweeter our victory, eh, Douglas?” Patty grinned, any sting in her earlier words taken out by the dancing light in her eyes.
Douglas merely inclined his head.
“I, for one,” she told the crowd, “feel damned lucky to call Douglas Ashton my son. He’s a good man, has taken care of my grandchildren during a very trying time and has, finally, after I fretted for years that it would ever happen, made my daughter unbelievably happy. I mean, look at the girl, she’s glowing!” There was more laughter and Douglas’s other arm wrapped around Julia.
“So please,” Patricia continued, “join me in raising your glasses to Douglas Ashton, my daughter’s husband, my grandchildren’s uncle, my new son and a very fine man. To Douglas!”
“Oh Mom!” Julia cried, reached across Douglas to embrace her mother and after she did so, Patricia gave Douglas a loud kiss on his cheek.
“You should know, my boy, I’ve put you in my will,” she informed him grandly.
He nodded gravely, as if he needed to be put in her will and didn’t have enough money to buy a small country. Patricia winked at Julia then hustled the children down the stairs.
Douglas kept hold of his wife, his arms loosely wrapped around her.
“That was well done of you,” Julia praised him.
“Let’s go,” he answered, completely ignoring her compliment.
Julia laughed, light-hearted and carefree, the music of her laughter sounding through Sommersgate.
When she sobered enough to speak, she realised he was serious and therefore protested, “We can’t leave our own wedding reception.”
“We can,” he insisted.
And Douglas was correct.
Because, without delay, they did.