And Julius, pushing determinedly against the flow, reached Jillie finally; and she saw him, and was briefly and entirely lifted from her sorrow, and smiled at him in pure joy as he took her hand and they made their way slowly out of the church together.
Even the most sternly faced members of the congregation looked around at one another, tear-stained and smiling at the same time, as they were assured it was a lovely day to be caught in the rain. Which was just as well, as the sun had already relinquished its place in the sky, and the clouds had rolled in once more.
Epilogue
It was a beautiful day, in the end. The sun had finally won its battle with the clouds, and shone determinedly through the afternoon. People were able to leave the marquee and walk on the lawn, exclaiming at the garden and its beauty; a little faded, to be sure, now that autumn was almost come, but still offering roses. And besides, with so charming a service behind them, what promised to be a banquet to come, and the most perfectly chilled, vintage champagne to drink now, who would criticise anything, anything at all?
A few eyebrows had been raised at the bridegroom’s variation upon his morning dress, namely a striped coat and black trousers; mercifully, no one had seen his choice of top hat, which had been white, rather than black, and vetoed by the bride only the evening before in extremely certain terms.
The bride, however, looked wonderfully and conventionally bride-like, her dress white silk, with a slightly elongated bodice, long tight sleeves and a skirt that billowed into almost exaggerated fullness, becoming a train at the back. Her grandmother’s tiara held her veil, and her bouquet, passed to her matron of honour for the service – she had no bridesmaids – was of white and yellow roses. The only criticism, voiced by perhaps only a very few after she had gone away, was that her hair was not teased into conventional bridal curls, or bound into a stiff chignon, but hung, die-straight, down her back.
That was how the bridegroom liked it, and indeed, he had told her it was one of the first things about her he had noticed, and therefore fell in love with; and since it was the sort of hair that did not take kindly to teasing or binding, it was a decision easily taken.
Not that any of them had been difficult: for who else would she want as her matron of honour, but her best friend from her schooldays, with whom she had shared and suffered and rejoiced so much? And who was looking quite absurdly pretty in a long, narrow dress, made of blue taffeta in a shade that exactly matched her eyes: her hair at least she wore in the statutory curls, but then it had a mind of its own, and she never wore it otherwise. Her husband, watching her as she walked down the aisle behind the bride, thought how much he loved her, and how incredible it was that that slender body had borne three children, the eldest of whom sat on his knee, bribed into silence with a new Thomas the Tank Engine book, which he studied intently throughout, the younger two being in the care of their next-door neighbours for the day.
The easiest decision of all for the bride had been saying yes to the bridegroom, despite his proposal following rather swiftly, and some might have thought unsuitably, upon another ceremony, namely the funeral of one of the bride’s best friends. But a few misunderstandings safely explained, there seemed little point to him in waiting any further, and fortunately the bride had agreed.
And how extremely appropriate for the best man today to have been best man at the wedding of the matron of honour and her husband: another piece of felicity, and even more so as it was he who had introduced the bride and groom. It had been his wish, most forcibly voiced, and the bride, touched beyond anything, had most happily agreed.
The speeches were all splendid; the groom’s a little short, for he said he had nothing to say except that he adored the bride, considered himself the luckiest man alive, and couldn’t wait to embark upon married life, and asked them to toast the very beautiful matron of honour, ‘And while you are about it, could we also raise our glasses to her husband who has recently – very recently – been elected as a Member of Parliament. I’m sure we all wish him well.’
The Member of Parliament, who was, at the behest of his wife, dressed rather more grandly than he felt appropriate to his new calling – but he was anxious to please her in as many ways as he possibly could – stood up and bowed and thanked him graciously.
Later, as the guests began to drift away, and the late summer dusk was thickening to darkness, Tom walked round the garden, thinking how, in spite of its sorrows, his life had been extremely blessed. He travelled back in time, to the very beginning, to his childhood in Hampshire, and to Diana, who recently, he had read, having retired rather publicly from modelling, was now turned society photographer, working closely with the gossip columnist Leo Bennett.
An unlikely liaison theirs had been, and hugely dangerous, but she had been a good and wise friend to him, and he would not have been in as happy a situation as he was today without her. For her advice that dreadful day, to set the tragedy of Laura finally behind him, whatever the circumstances and in whichever hospital they had occurred, and to concentrate on what he could do with his future, rather than what he could not with his past, had saved, he truly felt, his marriage and his career.
And then he thought of Laura and the tiny Hope, lying in the churchyard, and decided that the very next day, before they returned to Sandbanks, he would take not just Alice, but the children, to visit them; and he resolved in some strange and wonderful way to make them all one family.