With the silly superstitions.’
‘How are you getting on with the something old, something new stuff?’
‘Well, the dress can be either old, or borrowed. Blue is the tricky one because the dress has green and yellow notes.’
‘I thought a garter was traditional.’
‘Did you?’ And just like that the day lost its lustre.
Immi thought that this was her dream come true but the reality was that Cleve had done all this before. That time there had been a glossy ceremony in one of the classiest venues in the county, a bride that any man would have lusted after, but even with everything as perfect as a father’s money could make it the marriage hadn’t lasted.
This time he’d been guilt-tripped into marriage because of a one-night-stand baby. The wedding would be a handmade affair in an overgrown garden with a handful of guests and instead of an expensive honeymoon in the Maldives, he would be back at his desk the next day.
‘Miranda? Are you okay? Do you want to sit down?’
‘I can make it to the car,’ she said, jacking the smile back into place.
‘You’re sure?’
She nodded, but the only thing she was sure about was regret that they hadn’t gone to the municipio in San Rocco when they’d picked up the declarations and the rings and had the mayor say the words over them there and then.
No fancy dress, no photographs, just a couple of witnesses called in from an office. No family turning what was a marriage of convenience into a celebration.
* * *
The roof was fixed. Alberto’s son, Toni, arrived to cut the grass, remove the weeds from the terrace and cut back some of the shrubs so that the calla lilies had a chance to shine. He’d brought his wife with him and she helped prepare the bedrooms for Andie’s sisters, and did what she could with the painted drawing room and the conservatory.
And then, on Thursday, Immi arrived two days ahead of everyone else. Cleve, who had clearly known, had already packed his bag.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to leave you two to do whatever women do before a big event. Mostly have fun, I hope.’
‘But—’
‘In the meantime I’m going to pick up my family and yours.’
‘I thought Dad was going to organise that.’
‘He asked Immi to make the arrangements. She organised me.’ He turned to Immi. ‘Look after her.’
‘I will. We won’t make toffee or chips.’ She used a finger to cross her heart.
‘What?’
‘It’s what Dad always used to say when he and Mum went out leaving Portia in charge. No making toffee or chips...’ She laughed. ‘Maybe we should add a warning about leaving kettles to boil dry on the stove.’
Andie followed him out to the porch. ‘How are you getting to the airfield?’
‘Immi asked the taxi to wait.’ He put down his bag, took her in his arms. ‘There are one or two things I have to do. I’ll see you on Sunday.’
‘But you’ll be back on Saturday.’
‘I think you’ll find that Immi has organised something special for Saturday.’
‘A hen party?’ She buried her face in his chest. ‘Please tell me that you’re not going on a stag do with my dad.’
‘Your dad, my dad, Matt...’ He tucked his hand beneath her chin. ‘If we end up in jail will you bail us out?’
‘I’ll send Immi,’ she warned. ‘And you will be sorry.’
He laughed, kissed her. Lingered... ‘I have to go or I’ll miss my slot.’
‘Go!’ she said, then as he headed for the gate, ‘Take care!’
She’d seen him take off hundreds of times but suddenly it was personal. ‘Take care...’ she whispered as she heard the car pull away.
IMMI HAD A LIST. The first item on it was ‘The Dress’.
‘What are you going to wear?’
Andie showed her the kimono. Immi sighed, shook her head. ‘What on earth were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking simple, elegant.’
‘If you were ten centimetres taller and model-girl thin, maybe. You are lovely, darling, but you are not Sofia. This is not a dress for a woman with any kind of a bust.’ She opened the trunk and began to lift out dresses. ‘Oh! Do you remember this?’ She held up a pleated dress in green ombre-dye chiffon. She held it against herself. ‘I swanned around in this one imagining I looked like Sophia Loren.’
‘Flat chest, mousy brown hair? I don’t think so!’ They burst out laughing, hugged one another, then turned back to the chest, remembering lovely days, the parties, shedding a tear for Sofia who, older, wiser, they knew must have been lonely in her pink villa by the sea. Who had died far too young.
‘She had a dress that would be perfect,’ Immi said. ‘It was very delicate and must have meant something to Sofia because she wouldn’t let Portia wear it.’
‘What did it look like?’
She shook her head. ‘Wait until you see it. In the meantime,’ she said, holding up a jewel-bright gown, ‘this is what I’ll be wearing.’ She looked around. ‘Sofia had fabulous costume jewellery to go with these clothes. She had an old safe under the stairs where she kept it.’
Andie opened the box beneath her mirror and held up the key. ‘If you are prepared to brave the spiders I think this might be the key.’
‘Oh, boy. This is going to be so much fun,’ she said. ‘Of course, I will need shoes. And underwear. Shopping tomorrow?’
‘Is it compulsory?’
‘Absolutely, but today we’ll lie back and soak up the sun.’
‘Shouldn’t we be organising food? Doing something practical?’
‘It’s all taken care of.’
‘How?’
‘You might be cut off up here but the rest of the island is hooked up to the phone system and the World Wide Web. Dad gave me carte blanche with his credit card along with a few pointed comments about how thoughtful daughters ran away to get married.’
‘He didn’t mean it. He’ll burst with pride when he walks you down the aisle.’
