Bad Brides (53 page)

The photographer and video crew were positioned in the portico initially, capturing the arrival of the guests, the delight on their faces as they took in the exquisitely transformed grounds; but
once everyone had arrived, the cameras began to circulate, capturing spontaneous-looking moments which the guests, very well aware of the constant press attention, knew perfectly well how to stage.
They clustered around the gazebo, posed charmingly, chatting on the swing, threw back their heads and laughed, prosecco flutes in their hands, acting the parts of perfect, beautifully dressed
wedding guests they had been cast by Milly to play.

Only Eva hung back, avoiding the lenses. She wasn’t under any obligation to go outside yet. As chief bridesmaid, it was bad enough that she had to precede Milly down the red carpet,
walking towards Tarquin as if she were his bride, seeing him smile at her for a brief moment before his eyes shifted focus, went dreamy and soft as they gazed at the ethereal vision that was Milly,
approaching him as lightly as a feather blowing behind Eva’s taller and lankier frame.

Eva had seen Tarquin that morning when he had been breaking dry spaghetti into as many pieces as possible, a tradition that was supposed to ensure a long marriage: each broken piece symbolized
another year together. He had been looking ridiculously handsome in his white shirt and periwinkle-blue waistcoat, the wide lavender silk floppy tie that was due to be arranged into a loose bow
hanging dashingly around his neck, his golden curls a halo framing his angelic face; she thought he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. But Milly, she had to admit, was almost as lovely
in her off-white lace dress, whose broderie anglaise layers were intended to lift lightly in the breeze. Jewelled butterfly pins in semi-precious bluebird and cornflower quartzite, rock crystals
and mother-of-pearl, designed by Eva for Milly and Me, were set into Milly’s hair, piled up in a mass of curls on the crown of her head, and a cluster of pretty little butterfly brooches were
scattered over the bodice of the dress as if the bright winged creatures had settled for a moment on the bride.

Eva had talked Milly into the butterfly concept and persuaded her that the semi-precious stones from their own brand would work much better than the diamonds Milly secretly wanted. And Eva had
been absolutely right. Milly twirled in front of the full-length mirror, hair and make-up done, testing out that she had enough hairspray, that the hairpins were securely fastened, but also
glorying in her fairy-tale prettiness. Copies would be made of Milly’s dress by bridal designers; her hairstyle would be much imitated, and hopefully the butterfly pins and brooches would fly
out of the display cases of the retailers who stocked Milly and Me, thousands of brides all over the world trying to imitate Milly’s look, that of a nymph who was going to marry Prince
Charming.

He
is
Prince Charming
, Eva thought half an hour later as, to the accompaniment of Elden on theorbo and Tristram on bass, playing an arrangement of ‘Blue Seahorses’,
she stepped out onto the red carpet and led the other two bridesmaids down the path towards the man with whom she herself was in love. At least she knew that her pale blue dress suited her
perfectly; she had picked it out, of course, and the Twenties-style drop-waist flattered her narrow hips, made her long waist less noticeable. Tangles of lavender beads, caught together with the
same butterflies that Milly was wearing, were draped around her neck; Eva had the height to carry them off, and in her dark hair, pulled back into a side bun, a couple more butterflies were
affixed.

Appreciative gasps greeted Eva’s appearance as all the guests, now marshalled into the seats on either side of the gazebo, turned to watch the bridal procession arrive. The bouquet of
delicate wild flowers she carried was tied with a narrow silk ribbon wrapped with a circle of rock crystal and bluebell quartzite beads, strands of which dangled down decoratively, another touch
that future brides would be sure to copy.

I’ve put the effort into this ceremony that I should have used for my own wedding,
Eva thought sadly. Glancing over to the back of the gazebo, where Father Liam stood next to the
mayor of Greve-in-Chianti, she met the priest’s eyes for a moment and knew that he was very aware of what she was thinking.
I’ll do what he told me. That was such good advice. From
now on, I have to put myself first.

Eva had been trying not to look at Tarquin but, of course, it was unavoidable. As one of the two witnesses, she had to sit down almost directly opposite him, in a chair parallel to
Lance’s, who was Tarquin’s best man. Lance cast Eva a swift glance in which admiration was mingled with the gloomy disappointment that she had politely turned down his advances again
the night before. The other two bridesmaids fanned out to each side, their pretty pale blue dresses and blue and white bouquets forming a little frame in which the advancing Milly posed
beautifully, glancing down modestly for the cameras, then smiling shyly yet eagerly at her groom.

Tarquin’s face glowed in the gentle warmth of the late-May sun as he took in his bride, his eyes as blue as the sky behind him, the loose bow of his tie lifting just fractionally in the
soft breeze. He held out his hands to Milly, who, passing her bouquet to one of the little bridesmaids, gave a pretty burbling laugh and, holding out her own hands, ran the last steps to his side,
moving easily in the blue suede, ribbon-trimmed ballerina flats that made her look like a charming little doll.

Ludo, watching from the portico, where he was waiting to cue Elden and Tristram for the post-ceremony music, covered his mouth with his hand to avoid a tiny, involuntary, retching sound.
God, she’s really pushing it,
he thought.
That run was terribly
Princess Diaries.

But the audience – or the guests – sighed, charmed by Milly’s seemingly impulsive little rush. The mayor came forward to conduct the legally binding part of the ceremony,
smiling paternally at the bride and groom, gesturing to them to sit as he read out the required Italian legal statutes; programmes rustled as the guests all opened theirs and followed along with
the printed English translation inside. His voice was sonorous and he smiled from bride to groom, clearly thoroughly enjoying conducting this celebrity wedding.

Eva was mercifully unable to see Tarquin’s expression most of the time, but occasionally he would glance at Milly and the joy on his face, even in that fleeting profile glimpse, was almost
too much for Eva to bear. She ducked her head and stared down at her bouquet, dreading having to get up and read the poem that Milly had selected as her chief bridesmaid’s contribution.

She was so lost in misery that she only realized that the legal side of the proceedings had been concluded and the blessing was beginning because Milly had pushed back her chair and was standing
up. Father Liam had replaced the mayor at the wrought-iron lectern, and he was looking very seriously at Milly, gesturing for her to turn to Tarquin and recite her vows.

Milly tossed back her head, relishing that the spotlight, as it were, was entirely directed on her. Flashing a brilliant smile at Father Liam, she fixed her round blue eyes earnestly on Tarquin,
raised the sheet of paper on which her vows had been printed, and began.

‘Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments,’ she quoted from Shakespeare, her trained actress’s voice appropriately soft, but carrying like a clear silver
bell. She tilted her head to the side, smiling at Tarquin. ‘And that’s us, darling. True minds. We must be the two luckiest people in the world to have found each other. It feels like a
miracle to me, and I know it does to you too! And here we are in these amazing surroundings, where a miracle happened all those centuries ago, the miracle of the snow in August, and we’re
living in our own miracle. Having found each other.’

She paused for effect.

‘Finding lasting love truly is a miracle,’ she went on. ‘A thing of beauty is a joy for ever, as Keats said . . .’

I see she’s been hitting the miracle of Google hard,
Ludo thought, rolling his eyes.

‘. . . and with the amazing connection of Leonardo da Vinci to these surroundings, it feels like we’re just encircled by beauty and love!’ Milly read. ‘The
Mona
Lisa
was painted for Lisa Gherardini’s husband, out of love, and that love has made it the most famous painting in the world. And her family came from right here, would have worshipped
in this beautiful church, which was sketched by Leonardo. Every time I look at that drawing, so precious and unique, which shows this stunning landscape all around us at this very moment, I feel
the wonder at the miracle that happened here and our love, which is
just
as precious and unique—’

‘But you haven’t really looked at it,’ Tarquin said very quietly, so quietly that only Eva and Lance, the closest to the bride and groom by virtue of the seating arrangements,
could hear him. They exchanged brief, startled glances as a blissfully unaware Milly carried on:

‘ – and which, like great art, enfolds two people who’ve found each other, two real true minds and hearts as miraculously joined as I am with you, Tarquin
darling—’

Abruptly, the groom took a step back.

‘Milly, I’m feeling really uncomfortable!’ he blurted out, interrupting his bride in mid-flow. ‘Something’s not right.’

Muffled gasps from some spectators greeted his words, but Tarquin was oblivious to anything but Milly’s shocked face.

‘Did you write your vows yourself?’ he continued, his voice trembling. ‘Because that’s what we said – what we agreed on. I wrote a song for you called
“Turquoises in the Snow” that I was going to sing.’

Eva realized now why there was a guitar case propped beside Lance’s chair, when Lance himself was a drummer; clearly, Lance was going to pass the instrument to Tarquin so he could
accompany himself while singing. A rush of envy raced through her, jealousy that Tarquin had written a song specially for Milly and their wedding day.

Dots of red had appeared on Milly’s cheeks, pinging out like little distress beacons.

‘Yes, I wrote them!’ she said quickly. ‘Of course I did, darling. Look, there isn’t much more.’

‘No, I meant—’ Tarquin pressed the back of one hand against his forehead. ‘You wrote the words, I suppose, but the
thoughts
, the
ideas
– are those
yours? Or did you have help?’

By now, the spectators were frozen in their seats. The natural shifting and fiddling with programmes and re-crossing of legs that always happened at any kind of ceremony had completely ceased.
The muslin curtains had been looped back around the top struts of the gazebo to give everyone a clear view of the wedding, so the drama that was playing out was as visible as if on stage.

Mobile phones had been banned from the wedding, because
Style Bride
insisted on an exclusive for the ceremony, but the magazine’s cameras were still clicking away, the video
running. Eva was craning to try to see Tarquin’s face, but at the angle at which her chair was placed she could only see his profile. She did, however, have a perfect view of Milly. The
bride’s spaghetti-strap dress left her collarbone bare, and it was very obvious that a red rash of embarrassment was breaking out on her pale chest.

‘Yes, of course I thought of them myself!’ Milly said, after a pause. ‘Look, Tark darling, just let me finish and we’ll talk about this later.’

She was very aware of the reaction from the guests, the stares that were swiftly becoming horrified as the situation dragged on, as Tarquin didn’t just kiss her and let her continue; she
darted her eyes from side to side, taking in the scale of the problem.

‘But the thing is – you
didn’t
see the drawing,’ Tarquin said bluntly. ‘The Leonardo of the church. You’ve never been to see it.’

‘I saw it in the papers they gave us about the church!’ Milly’s voice rose frantically. ‘And online! I’ve looked at it lots, just like I said in the vows! Darling,
please
just—’

‘We’ve been back twice since we chose this place to get married in,’ Tarquin carried on, ‘and both times I really, really wanted to go to the Uffizi to show you the
drawing – but you always had something better to do. And yesterday I said that Marco said there was a guide who could take us on a private viewing, and you said you were too busy with wedding
stuff, and then you went shoe shopping in Florence instead.’

Milly swallowed hard. Leaning towards him, she put a hand on his arm.

‘I didn’t know it meant so much to you, darling,’ she said softly, controlling herself with a huge force of will. ‘We’ll go as soon as we’re back from
honeymoon, I promise.’

Tarquin shook his head vehemently.

‘But you talked about it like you’d seen it,’ he said simply. ‘I know in my heart that you didn’t write those vows all by yourself.’ He tapped his chest with
one hand. ‘Those
aren’t
your thoughts, your ideas. And when I asked you just now, you said they were.’

Tears brimmed in his eyes.

‘You lied to me at our wedding, Milly,’ he said. ‘At our
wedding
! If you’d admitted that you had help writing your vows, I could forgive that. I truly could. But
lying
about it . . .’

As Tarquin mentioned Milly having help with her vows, Milly’s glance slipped involuntarily to Eva for a second, and Tarquin, seeing this, turned to look at Eva too. Eva’s eyes met
his, full of panic: would Tarquin blame her for what Father Liam called playing Cyrano? But as the tears started to fall down his cheeks, Eva saw no blame, nothing but misery and grief in his
expression.

‘How can I ever trust you again if you’ve lied to me at our wedding?’ he asked Milly with terrible simplicity.

‘Tark – Tark,
please.
’ Milly, now in utter panic, grabbed onto his arm. ‘Tark,
wait
! We can work this out – you know how sensitive you are! When
you calm down and think it over, you’ll realize this is a storm in a teacup. Please,
please
let’s just finish the wedding!’