Well Groomed (23 page)

‘Who?’ Tash wondered if her mother seriously thought she’d confess to talking to Snob as though he was human – even to a mother.

‘That unpunctual, sexy man of yours!’ Alexandra pressed her hand lovingly on top of Tash’s, which was gripping the pew in front. ‘Honestly, Tash – you are
so
vague sometimes.’

‘Oh – Niall.’ Tash watched the vicar flapping worriedly at the font, where Ben was looking stooping and stupid beside a tall, devastatingly broody blond hunk. ‘No – but he sent a fax yesterday afternoon to say he’d definitely be here.’

‘What an extraordinary relationship you two have.’ Hugo, who was reading the order sheet with interest, didn’t look up. ‘Communicating through rolls of heat-sensitive paper. I suppose you could call it the fax of life.’

‘I was riding out on the all-weather gallops when he called,’ Tash said huffily.

‘Riding out a storm then, I should imagine.’ Hugo moved slightly away from her, clearly unwilling to make contact with the static that was emanating from her suit.

‘Your father has already cornered me to demand to know whether or not he’s expected to give you away,’ Alexandra hissed to Tash, and shot the back of James’s red, neatly clipped neck a nasty look. ‘I mean to say, who else is going to? The silly man!’

Tash suddenly and guiltily realised that she had been so paranoid about the effect her outfit was having that she hadn’t even noticed that her father and Henrietta were sitting in the pew in front. Not that they had exactly leaped up to greet her. Right now she felt that her father would be only too willing to give her away.

She tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

‘Hi, Daddy.’

Stiffening, he craned around.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he muttered. ‘You well?’

‘Fine.’ Tash wished he didn’t always appear to be so ashamed of her. ‘And you?’

‘Reasonable,’ he said brusquely, making to turn away again, relieved that he had done his duty.

‘Mummy says you’re worrying about giving me away,’ Tash persisted, her anger piqued.

‘Not worried,’ he hissed, clearly unwilling to enter the conversation. ‘Just making sure.’

‘Well, it’s okay. I don’t want you to give me away.’ Tash lifted her chin. ‘I want Mummy to.’

She could hear Hugo spluttering with derision beside her, the pompous reactionary! She had a brief urge to add loudly that she wanted to marry in yellow PVC just to see if he’d fall off the pew completely, but bit her tongue.

‘You what!’ James swung around. At his side, Henrietta didn’t turn, but the beige padded shoulders of her English Eccentrics jacket rose to her ears as though suddenly attached to her pearl earrings.

‘I want Mummy to give me away,’ Tash muttered. ‘After all, she kept me after you two divorced, which rather gives her possession – nine-tenths of the mother-in-law and all that.’

‘Oh, darling!’ Alexandra enveloped her in a scented arm and hugged her close. ‘That is so lovely!’

At that moment Sophia emerged from the vestry with a still-wailing Henry, both looking almost deranged with stress. Henry looked suspiciously likely to throw up again at any second, a sickly dribble emanating from his cherubic mouth.

‘Tash!’ Sophia spotted her sister in the crowd and closed in on her.

Even when demented, she looked gorgeous. Her huge green eyes were traced with the most subtle of tawny liner, but it still brought out the amber flecks so that they resembled unripe russet apples; her black hair had been lightly pinned into tumbling wisteria traces over her cheekbones, and her cream Amanda Wakeley suit was so understated yet well cut it allowed the slender perfection of her figure to rule the day in one of the most demure displays of sexual exhibitionism Tash had ever encountered. She felt like a great yellow neon ‘Bargain of the Week’ sign blazing from a car lot in contrast.

The only thing that marred this flawless beauty was Sophia’s hysteria.

‘Where is he?’ she wailed, leaning over the pew towards Tash so that their mother’s dress was threatened by Henry’s impending puke. ‘I mean, I know he’s a star, but this is so dreadfully rude. It may look good to roll up late to a première or celebrity opening or charity ding-dong, but one has to keep a sense of proportion. This is a religious ceremony – I thought Catholics were supposed to take these things seriously?’ She shot a wary look at the vicar, whom she hadn’t pre-warned of Niall’s denomination.

‘He promised he’d be here,’ Tash soothed. ‘I’m sure he’ll arrive any second now – he’s probably stuck in traffic.’

‘Well, tough.’ Sophia gazed around the church frantically. ‘We’ll just have to get someone else to stand in for him – drat! Who is there? Hugo?’

He looked up, unworried. ‘I’m already taken, darling – you used me for Josh, remember? Twice looks like heirlessness.’

‘Dratty drat!’ Sophia raked the room, her beautiful eyes suddenly settling on a very unwilling recipient of her attention. ‘Matty!’

Jiggling Henry at her cream chest, she raced to the back of the chapel and pounced on her brother who was sulkily reading
Private Eye
in a rear pew, oblivious of the fact that Tom and Tor were loudly fighting to one side of him. He was again wearing his ubiquitous crocheted hat, which had now developed a strangely lumpy look and had a large coffee stain over one ear.

‘No way.’ Matty looked up in shock, instantly realising what she was asking. ‘I’m an atheist – I’m only here under duress, and because Sally said there’s going to be loads of food.’

‘Oh, do dry up – this is an emergency. Get to that font!’ Sophia practically had him out of the pew by his collarless grand-dad shirt.

In her panic, she didn’t hear the throaty sound of a black cab arriving at speed in the car park outside. Marching Matty up the aisle, she whipped off his cap as they arrived at the vicar to effect hasty introductions.

With Matty standing sullenly by the font – slightly apart from his fellow god parents in an attempt to look detached and agnostic – the vicar hastily whipped out his Bible and, clearing his throat with a creepy series of hiccups, settled the congregation, which was largely made up of Ben’s family all talking loudly about shooting. There was a resounding sound of crunching footsteps on gravel coming from outside now.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ the vicar droned in a dull, booming voice that appeared to resonate from the depths of his cassock, as though relayed via an implanted loudspeaker, ‘I am delighted to welcome you all to our ancient parish for the delightful . . .’

‘Christ and Lord above – am I glad I made it!’ came a deep, sexy croak from the door.

Tash almost melted with pride.

Framed in the high arch of the doorway was a tall, broad figure, stooping slightly as he fought to catch his breath before entering. He was wearing a vast trenchcoat and jeans and, to Tash, had never looked more desirable and untamed, like a craggy, windswept horizon that only the bravest dared set out to reach. She felt herself rise up on her haunches with buttock-clenched delight.

Beside her, Hugo rubbed a finger over his chin, lounging back in the pew.

Niall’s voice was like warm, soothing oil in an aching ear. ‘I’m so sorry, everyone – my plane was delayed, and then the traffic out of Brum was hell on earth, so it was. God! There was a point back there when I thought the little sod’d be in his teens by the time I made it here. Hi, Sophia angel. Christ, you look glorious!’

Niall may have just blasphemed like a Satanist and stilled the room with his loud, happy raucousness, but such was his charm that he was instantly forgiven. Sophia went pink with delight, Ben greeted him with a great, slapping bear hug, and even the vicar looked quite skittish with excitement to have such a good-looking famous face in his church.

Shooting his friend a grateful wink, Matty passed him his pre-printed lines and sloped gratefully back to his pew, where Sally had now silenced Tom and Tor with two giant activity books, carefully hidden from view by some propped-up hassocks.

As Niall took up position, his eyes raked the room for Tash. Spotting her glowing in her undersized RTA police officer’s yellow uniform, his eyes softened and he blew her a loud kiss. Sophia chose this point to have a slight coughing fit and a lot of Ben’s relatives turned to stare at Tash with renewed amazement, suddenly registering that she was the unworthy recipient of this great man’s affections.

Tash, however, had caught a hint of something that worried her far more than her general disfavour with the gathered Meredith clan. She gazed at Niall worriedly as he beamed out warmth and bonhomie to the room.

Hugo had spotted it too, and stretched across to trace Tash’s ear with the warm, careless breath of his caustic observation.

‘He’s bloody pissed,’ he hissed in an undertone.

She closed her eyes, appalled. Why, oh why, was Niall drunk at eleven in the morning?

Somehow Niall coasted through the ceremony, not fluffing a single line. Only Hugo and Tash noticed the unnaturally faraway look in his deep brown eyes, the slight lethargy in his delivery, and the husky catch in his voice that only ever appeared after his fifth Bushmills. The rest of the congregation watched in awe as he stole the show without intending to. His reading was so beautifully timed, heavenly on the ear and emotional to the soul, that even Ben’s cold-hearted, pragmatic mother scrabbled in her Mulberry handbag for a handkerchief, finally extracting a very creased piece of loo-roll. When they finally filed out of the chapel, he was pressed upon from all sides by delighted family members eager to introduce themselves.

Trying to fight her way through, Tash couldn’t get close to him. All she could hear as she found herself shunted past and out into the cold was the yakking praise of the local gentry.

‘We met on Boxing Day – Clarissa and George, do you remember?’ And: ‘I hear you’re practically going to be marrying into the family – I’m so delighted!’ Or: ‘Sophia has told me so much about you – I’m sure you’ll be a simply splendid role-model to Henry.’ Before long, he was being asked to do an after-dinner speech for the local hunt ball, and donate a personal item to the Guidedogs for the Blind auction.

Tash found herself out in the car park, standing between Hugo and Ben, who both ignored her while they had a very boring chat about straw-burning generators.

Giving up on feigning interest, she caught sight of her father and Henrietta exchanging overly polite platitudes with the vicar, and suddenly realised that both Emily and Beccy were with them – the latter looking ludicrously studently in a torn, crumpled mackintosh and Doc Martens. She was shooting James looks of frosty hostility from beneath a dyed black fringe. Tash cringed behind Ben as she remembered her silly, shrewish comments in the church. She quickly looked away and found herself almost nose-to-nose with her brother-in-law who had finally noticed her and was having a sly peek at her legs.

‘Tash, old thing.’ Ben, galvanised into courteous action by a sense of duty, gave her a stiff-backed hug – the closest he ever came to affection. ‘You looked quite splendid – very choice.’

‘Thanks.’ Tash smiled bravely. It was a family joke that you knew you were looking truly awful when Ben paid you a compliment; he had simply diabolical taste in women’s clothing, still believing that Pan’s People were the be all and end all of feminine chic.

‘I must say, I’m jolly pleased that you and old Niall are finally getting hitched – you make a premium couple.’

He made it sound like bovine artificial insemination.

‘Don’t you agree, Hugs? Tash and Niall are superbly matched?’ He turned to his old friend, eager for confirmation.

Pushing a stray lock of walnut-coloured hair from his forehead, Hugo caught Tash’s eye and, after a beat, flashed her a glacial smile.

‘They seem to be custom-made for one another,’ he said dryly, looking across the gravel sweep of car park as Niall, having finally extricated himself from the Meredith heavies, made his way towards Tash, tripping over Linus’s baby buggy and pitching left into a small patch of crocuses.

Tash looked at him and, despite the dullness a few drinks had wrought to his dark, shining eyes, felt only relief and happiness that those milk chocolate holes on his soul told her he was as ridiculously pleased to see her as she was him.

‘Hi, angel.’ He drew her into a kiss that was so satisfyingly long and luscious it made up for the fact that his mouth tasted of whisky, and his chin badly needed a shave. Tash resurfaced short of breath and, although fizzing with excitement, she was mildly aware that the vicar was watching them with beady, jealous eyes as Niall went for a second take, tongue tasting her mouth as though re-visiting a favourite wine.

‘Great reading, Niall old chap.’ Ben cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by the kiss. Seemingly oblivious, Hugo had already wandered away to talk to Sally.

Niall barely seemed to notice Ben hovering uncomfortably nearby.

‘Forgive me?’ he breathed, nuzzling into Tash’s neck.

‘What’s to forgive?’ She pressed her face into his soft, cool hair. It badly needed a wash and was so long that it touched his shoulders, but it smelled so familiar that she shuddered with happiness.

‘Lots, so there is.’ He pulled away, his darting gaze suddenly shifty with guilt. ‘Not making it back that weekend, not calling enough, not standing up for myself or demanding time off to spend with you, taking on the part in Lisette’s film – ah!’ He grinned uncomfortably as she stiffened involuntarily at the mention of the L word. ‘I knew you were upset about that now.’

Tash shook her head, suddenly truthful. ‘I’m secretly grateful to her.’ She smiled. ‘Because it’ll keep you in England – and close to me.’

‘Ah – there’s a thing.’ He enveloped her in a tight hug of happiness. ‘Let’s go home. I can’t be facing this reception now. I want to go to bed with you.’

Tash wanted that very much too, but she knew that they would both have to face her sister for many years to come – and not going to her reception to pay a bit of lip service, even if it meant that they had to keep their lips off one another for a few hours, would be unforgivable.