fact, everything was just right – an opinion repeated the following week in the social pages. And as the carillon played ‘Praise My Soul the King of Heaven’ even Elizabeth cast aside her doubts.
‘But how could you?’ Ginnie said every time she heard the story of the wedding. ‘How could you?’
And Elizabeth would admit to her folly, wryly, but no longer bemused. Such a glittering occasion it had been, and not just the ceremony but the reception as well. A marquee had been erected over the tennis court and a parquetry floor laid on the en-toutcas. The canvas awnings on the long western side of the tent had been raised to reveal the terraced garden and swimming pool. Lights were everywhere, and dotted amongst them were insect flares shooting a brilliant incandescence into the night sky. Rafts of flowers floated in the pool, ringlets of flowers graced the posts of the marquee, adorned the canopy, the tables, flowers so exotic – anthuriums and strelitzias flown in from tropical climes – and tuberoses as numerous as daisies.
Diana Bainbridge had said from the beginning that it would be the wedding of the year. And it was. But richer than the flowers and brighter than the lights were the people in their satins and silks and laces and brocades and shining purses and glittering jewels. Such jewels! Gusts of jewels released from bank vaults just for the occasion coruscated freely in the radiant night. Jewels nodding and waving and gossiping, jewels in groups, jewels in couples. Never had there been such a spectacular display.
‘A magnificent evening and a beautiful bride,’ a woman daubed in diamonds and emeralds said.
‘Beautiful,’ replied her friend, raising hand to neck so the light caught her matching necklace and bracelet in baguette diamonds.
‘Although there’s a bit too much pink with all those attendants,’ another said who had chosen rubies for the occasion.
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Mrs Warby’s diamonds flashed at the insult to her daughter.
‘Oh, no no!’ Rubies said quickly, ‘I don’t mean your Susie, she looks beautiful, I was referring to the more buxom girls.’
‘Yes, I have to agree,’ diamonds and emeralds said with a wave of a glinting green hand. ‘But it’s so difficult finding friends of similar shape. I know when our Debbie was choosing her bridesmaids – ’
So much bubble and sparkle and catching the light, the flittering hands and fluttering eyes of those of infinitesimal concentration, then hors d’oeuvres were over and people moved to the tables for the meal: the ubiquitous smoked salmon but so elegantly presented, a lemon sorbet to cleanse the palate, followed by a choice of beef Wellington or fresh shellfish – a rhapsody in king prawns, oysters open on the shell and crayfish cradled among delectable accompaniments. And as the guests savoured the fine flavours and sucked on their cigarettes the opinion was Raleigh Price had surpassed himself. What would the master do next? they asked. What indeed? He would do the dessert, a pièce de résistance that warranted a knighthood, so the people said.
Lights were dimmed, the band struck a march, and a phalanx of waiters appeared each carrying a silver platter of bombe Alaska lit by a sparkler. The applause was spontaneous, the admiration sumptuous. The waiters marched to the centre of the marquee where half turned to the left and the other half to the right and like prancing Lippizaners they circled the tables rearing and bowing to their audience. And before the sparklers were quite spent the waiters re-formed in front of the top table and raised platters in homage to those seated in the place of honour. Even when the performance was over the applause continued, never had there been anything like it. Although there would be again, the performance was repeated many times in years to come, but the first time was at the Bainbridge-Dadswell wedding and that would never be forgotten.
What an evening! Uncle Freddy was drunk rather earlier than usual, but Robert his butler had the matter entirely under control, appearing at regular intervals to take Freddy to the toilet, thereby avoiding a repeat of the embarrassment at the Wadsworth party the previous month. And Martha Potter – people said she looked like a young bride herself – was ecstatic. Finally, after a twenty-two-year courtship, Hugh Nethercott had proposed. ‘It was his father’s fault it took so long,’ Martha said to Diana Bainbridge, ‘he always said I wasn’t good enough. But now he’s dead, there’s nothing to stop us.’ And was she resentful? Not at all, she just hated the old bastard and thought he’d got what he deserved.
Oliver Warby was there with a new girlfriend, Paula Barnes, a tall blonde woman with a magnificent figure, rather too much of which was revealed by a clinging silver-mesh dress. It was Lydia Branch who said that what Paula lacked in jewels she made up for in the glittering gown; indeed, Lydia’s raised eyebrows said a lot more than that. But despite Paula Barnes’ being away from her usual milieu – her grooming, her gown, her broad vowels all betrayed her – she appeared to manage all right and the men, including, apparently, Oliver Warby, loved her
All Adrian’s mates were there, laughing and drinking and recalling old times. In the break between the main course and dessert, Adrian and his best man Jules took to the stage and performed a song and dance routine to the delight of everyone. For an encore they did a Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers number, with Adrian as a gorgeous if over-sized Ginger and Jules a most graceful Fred. When it was time for the speeches Adrian and Jules were a little the worse for wear and Adrian forgot to begin his speech with the traditional ‘My wife and I’; but Jules, ever vigilant, scribbled a reminder on the damask table cloth and Adrian included it in his final remarks.
Speeches and dancing and a night full of dreams and already it was time for the bride and groom to change into their going-away outfits, but Adrian had disappeared. Elizabeth sent her attendants to find him, and when at eleven o’clock he still had not appeared, Elizabeth, accompanied by her three bridesmaids – Lydia had been lost in the search – went to change without him; Adrian would turn up, she said, he always did. It took Elizabeth only a short time. The outfit had been chosen for ease and comfort – a two-piece suit in reverse checks of pink and white, very tailored, with boxer sleeves and straight skirt. She patched her makeup, combed out her hair and pronounced herself ready. Cathy Dadswell offered to look for Adrian, but just as she was leaving, a flushed and rumpled Lydia arrived.
‘I found him,’ she said. ‘He was in the little room near the kitchen tidying up the presents.’
‘From the look of you, you could do with a bit of tidying yourself,’ Susie said.
Lydia crossed to the mirror and laughed. ‘I see what you mean. Anyone have a comb and some lipstick?’
Elizabeth passed her both. ‘Well, is he ready?’
Lydia concentrated on her hair. ‘He said he’d knock on his way past.’
And there he was, three neat knocks and in he came. He kissed Elizabeth and apologised for keeping her waiting, but she knew he’d never been one to leave a good party early. Then he moved to the mirror where Lydia was still rearranging herself, and smoothed his hair. With his gaze directed at Lydia, he said, ‘When do I get to thank the bridesmaids for their magnificent assistance to my bride?’
Mrs Bainbridge appeared in the doorway. ‘Now’s your opportunity,’ she said, ‘I want to have a private word with Elizabeth.’
Elizabeth walked over to her husband, gave him a peck on the cheek and followed her mother from the room. They went into the upstairs den and sat down. Mrs Bainbridge gave her a small parcel. ‘Go on,’ she said, ‘open it, I’ve been saving it for you.’
Inside was a ring, a rosette of diamonds set in a fine platinum band. ‘It was your great-grandmother’s,’ Mrs Bainbridge said.
‘It’s
