Ghostwritten. Isabel Wolff

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СКАЧАТЬ Jon and his older brother, James, took their places together, while their younger brother, Tim, ushered in a few latecomers. Nina’s mother, in a turquoise opera coat and matching hat, smiled benignly as she made her way to her pew.

      I turned and caught a glimpse of Nina. She stood in the porch, in the white silk dupion sheath that Honor and I had helped her choose, her veil drifting behind her.

      As the Bach drew to an end, the vicar stepped in front of the altar and welcomed everyone. Then there was a burst of Handel, and we all stood as Nina walked down the aisle on her father’s arm.

      After the opening prayers we sang ‘Morning Has Broken’; then Honor stepped up to the lectern to read the sonnet that Nina had chosen.

      ‘My true love hath my heart, and I have his,’ she began, her dulcet voice echoing slightly. ‘By just exchange one for the other given. I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. There never was a better bargain driven …’

      As Honor read on, I felt a sting of envy. The lovers understood each other so well. I thought I’d had that with Rick …

      ‘My true love hath my heart – and I have his,’ Honor concluded.

      The vicar raised his hands. ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony …’ I looked at Nina and Jon, side by side in a pool of light, and wondered whether these words would ever be said for Rick and me. ‘Nor taken in hand wantonly,’ the vicar was saying, ‘but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and soberly, and in the fear of God, duly considering the causes for which Matrimony was ordained.’ At that I felt Rick shift slightly. ‘First, it was ordained for the procreation of children …’ I stole a glance at him, but his face gave nothing away. ‘Therefore, if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else, hereafter, forever hold his peace.’

      I tried to follow the service but found it suddenly impossible to focus on the music, or the Address, or on the beauty and solemnity of the vows. As Nina and Jon committed themselves to each other, with unfaltering voices, I felt another stab of pain. The register was signed, the last hymn sung and the blessing given; then, as Widor’s Toccata mingled with the pealing bells, we followed Nina and Jon outside.

      We showered the couple with petals and took snaps with our phones; then the photographer began the formal photos of them while we all milled around by the porch.

      ‘Great to see you! Fantastic weather!’

      ‘Lovely service – much prefer the King James.’

      ‘Me too. Well read, Honor!’

      ‘Should we make our way to the house?’

      ‘Not yet. I think they want a group pic.’

      Rick and I, keen to get away from the crowd, strolled through the churchyard; we looked at the gravestones, most of which were very old and eroded, blotched with yellow lichen.

      Rick stopped in front of a slate headstone. ‘That’s odd. It’s got a pineapple on it.’

      I looked at the carved image. ‘A pineapple means prosperity, as do figs, and I guess this was a prosperous area, probably because of the wool trade.’

      We walked on, in silence, past stones that had angels on them, and doves and candles, the symbolism of which was clear.

      We could hear the chatter of the guests, a sudden burst of Honor’s unmistakeable laughter, then the photographer’s voice. Could you look at me, Nina?

      Rick approached another grave, by a yew. He peered at it. ‘This one’s got a bunch of grapes carved on it.’

      ‘Grapes represent the wine at the Last Supper.’

      Rick glanced at me. ‘How do you know all this, Jen? I didn’t think you were religious.’

      ‘I had to research it for one of my books. It was years ago, but I’ve remembered a lot of it.’

       Now look at each other again …

      ‘Here’s a rose,’ Rick said, pointing to another headstone. ‘I assume that means love?’

       Oh, very romantic …

      ‘No. Roses show how old the person was when they died.’ I studied the worn emblem. ‘This is a full rose, which was used for adults.’ I read the inscription. ‘Mary Ann Betts … was …’ I peered at her dates. ‘Twenty-five. The stem’s severed, to show that her life was cut short.’

      ‘I see …’ Our conversation felt stiff and formal, as though we were strangers, not lovers.

       Can we have a kiss?

      ‘A partially opened rose means a teenager.’

       And another one. Lovely.

      ‘And a rosebud is for a child.’

       Hold his hand now.

      Rick nodded thoughtfully. ‘A sad subject.’

      ‘Yes …’ Okay, all stand together, please – nice and close!

      Rick and I rejoined everyone for the group photo, for which the photographer climbed onto a stepladder, wobbling theatrically to make us all laugh. We smiled up at him while he clicked away then, hand in hand, Nina and Jon led us down the path, across the field, to the house.

      The Old Forge was just as I remembered it – long and low, its pale stone walls ablaze with pyracantha and Virginia creeper. A large marquee filled the lawn. In the distance were the hills of Slad, the plunging pastures dotted with sheep, their bleats carrying across the valley on the still air.

      We joined the receiving line, greeting both sets of parents, then the bride and groom.

      Nina’s face lit up and we hugged. ‘Jenni …’

      I had to fight back sudden tears. I didn’t know whether they were tears of happiness for her or of self-pity. ‘You look so beautiful, Nina.’

      ‘Thank you.’ She put her lips to my ear. ‘You next,’ she whispered.

      Jon kissed me on the cheek, then clasped Rick’s hand. ‘Good to see you both! Thanks for coming!’

      ‘Congratulations, Jon,’ Rick said warmly. ‘It was a lovely service. Congratulations, Nina.’

      Now we moved on into the large sunny sitting room where drinks were being served. I put our gift on a table amongst a cluster of other presents and cards. A waiter offered us a glass of champagne. Rick raised his glass. ‘Here’s to the happy couple.’

      ‘They are happy’ – I sipped my fizz. ‘It’s wonderful.’

      ‘How long have they been together?’

      ‘About the same as us. They got engaged on their first anniversary,’ I added neutrally, СКАЧАТЬ