through to the panelled dining-room, where a table that would have held a dozen or more was set for two.
‘So what’s wrong?’ he pursued, when they were seated and the soup had been served.
‘Nothing’s wrong, really.’
Seeing a frown draw his well-marked brows together, she added awkwardly, ‘It was just that Margaret said she hoped we would both live happily ever after, ‘‘like they do in fairy tales’’. I was just wondering if fairy tales always ended happily, when a goose walked over my grave…’
He looked oddly relieved.
Eager to change the subject, she asked, ‘How did you get on?’
‘I had a word with both Matthew and James. They were pleased to hear the news. James is quite willing to be best man, and Matthew said he could see no reason why, if the vicar of our chosen church was agreeable, we shouldn’t start planning the wedding for Wednesday. Unfortunately he’s away at a conference and won’t be able to attend, but, bearing in mind Grandfather’s state of health, he agreed that the ceremony should take place as soon as possible. As luck would have it, I was able to catch the Reverend David Moss, the vicar of St Peter’s, between his morning service and lunch. He had nothing scheduled for Wednesday, so I’ve arranged for an eleven o’clock wedding, if that’s all right by you?’
‘Fine.’
‘Then that’s the most important thing settled,’ he said with satisfaction.
An odd little shiver ran though her, leaving her shaken and uncertain. She wanted to marry Simon, wanted to be his wife, so why, instead of feeling joyful and happy, did she feel uneasy, as if some sixth sense was warning that all was not well?
‘Which leaves just a few odd ends to tie in,’ he went on. ‘The most important of which is a decision on where you’d like to spend your first honeymoon. I suggested Paris or Rome as being reasonably close—we can always go further afield at a later date—but if there’s anywhere else you prefer… Amsterdam? Venice? Vienna?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m quite happy with either Paris or Rome.’
‘It’s for you to choose.’
‘Then Rome. Along with some student friends I spent a weekend in Paris, which I loved, but I’ve never been to Rome.’
‘Rather than staying in the city itself, which can be extremely noisy, I suggest that we find somewhere in the hills just outside Rome. There are some delightful little villages…’
While they discussed the various options, she made a determined effort to dismiss the feeling of uneasiness. But a faint niggle persisted until lunch was over.
As they left the dining-room, he asked, ‘Are you planning to let your mother and stepfather know about the wedding?’
‘I’m afraid I hadn’t thought about it,’ she admitted. ‘Though I will, of course.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to phone them now?’
Well aware that the suddenness would come as a shock to her conservative mother, Charlotte hesitated. Then realising they had to know, and it would be as well to get it over with, she said, ‘If you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not. By the way, what’s your mother’s name now she’s remarried?’
‘Harris. Joan Harris. Her husband’s called Steve.’
Simon glanced at his watch. ‘Do they stay up late?’
‘I don’t really know.’
‘Well, it will be getting on for midnight in Sydney. Do you want to see if you can catch them?’
‘Please.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE LED the way to the library, which was a large, handsome room with book-lined walls and an elaborately decorated plaster ceiling.
There was a soft leather suite and a Turkey red carpet with matching velvet curtains held back by tasselled cords. Though the day had remained sunny, a cheerful log fire burned in the wide grate.
In front of the window an imposing leather-topped desk, with a matching chair, held all the latest state-of-the-art office equipment. Sitting down at the desk, Charlotte dialled her parents’ number.
When, after a short delay, her mother answered, she blurted out, ‘Mum, it’s me.’
‘It’s very late to ring. Is there something wrong?’ Joan asked, her voice concerned.
‘No, there’s nothing wrong. Just the opposite. I know it’s a bit late, but I wanted to give you the good news without delay. I’m getting married.’
Quickly, before the questions started to flow, Charlotte told her mother the relevant details.
‘This Wednesday!’ Joan sounded staggered. ‘It’s all so sudden. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?’
‘Well, everything’s happened quite quickly and—’
‘But I’ve never even heard you mention anyone called Simon.’
Somewhat hampered by Simon’s presence, Charlotte said carefully, ‘We haven’t known each other all that long. You might say it was love at first sight—’
Only when the words were out did she realise it was the wrong thing to say.
Sounding even more anxious, Joan broke in, ‘I’ve always mistrusted that kind of thing. Too often it’s just infatuation. Love should have time to grow.’
‘Normally I would agree with you but—’
‘Surely it would be a lot wiser to wait a while and give it some thought?’ Joan insisted.
‘Simon doesn’t want to wait, you see—’
‘As you don’t have to get married…’ Then, obviously horrified by the idea, she cried, ‘You don’t, do you? You’re not pregnant?’
Feeling guilty because she could so easily be, Charlotte said, ‘No, of course not.’
Joan breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Then it would be a big mistake to rush into things. My advice is, take your time.’
‘We haven’t much time. You see, Simon would like his grandfather, who is terminally ill, to be present at the wedding, and—’
‘But we don’t know a thing about this Simon; we haven’t even set eyes on him. You might be making a terrible mistake, and you know what they say—marry in haste, repent at leisure…’
Seeing the hunted look on Charlotte’s face, Simon took the phone off her and said quietly, ‘Mrs Harris, this is Simon Farringdon. I realise the suddenness must have come as something of a shock for you, and I do apologise. However, all the arrangements are in place, and things will be going ahead as planned—’
