A Winter Bride (10 page)

The band played a few chords, tuning up.

‘The ordeal is approaching,’ said Nell.

Harry walked into the middle of the floor, clapping his hands, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom will lead the company in the first waltz.’

Alistair and Nell stood up, looked sheepishly around.

‘I have a plan,’ said Alistair. ‘I’ll grab your waist and we’ll strike up a Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire pose, then I’ll step back on my right foot and you step forward on your left foot and we’ll take it from there.’

‘Good plan,’ said Nell. ‘Christ, they’re playing the Tennessee Waltz. I hate that song. This is not an auspicious start to our marriage.’

He took her hand, ‘This is our first trial as man and wife. If we can get through this, we can weather any storm. Stride boldly with me to the middle of the floor.’

They took up their Astaire and Rogers pose, looking deep into one another’s eyes. The band played. Alistair stepped back on his right foot, but Nell never had gotten the hang of right and left and she put her right foot forward, treading on his toe. He lost his momentum, twirled her round, stepping on her toe. She winced. They stumbled, bumped into one another, tripped and painfully trod on each other’s feet. The guests watched in silence.

May, who by now had drunk too much, shouted, ‘We all know there’s something the two of you are good at, and it isn’t dancing.’

The red spot on Nell’s throat turned a deeper crimson. Alistair smiled and pulled her closer. ‘What we do is so much more fun.’

And then the mood changed. The wedding guests started to clap, and a whispered ‘aww’ rippled through them. ‘Sweet,’ someone said. And the clapping got louder.

Alistair said, ‘We’re getting the hang of this. We’re getting audience approval.’

He twirled her once more, and as they whirled, he saw the objects of admiration. Carol and Johnny were waltzing perfectly. So expert was their dance, anyone could see they had rehearsed this. And to complete the one-upmanship, they held between them Katy, their baby daughter. She was laughing in delight. She was also dressed in a miniature version of Carol’s bridesmaid dress.

‘We’ve been upstaged,’ said Alistair.

He and Nell stopped their bridal waltz and stood hand-in-hand watching the perfect three twirl and glide over the floor.

‘The swine,’ said Alistair. ‘It’s an N on the forehead for them.’

‘Let them. It’s what Carol always wanted. To be the star of the show. Besides, we’re off to Florence, and they’re not.’

Chapter Nine

Florence

It was late afternoon on the day after the wedding when Nell and Alistair arrived in Florence. They’d taken an early morning flight to London, a second flight to Pisa and then a train the rest of the way. At first the speed and whoosh of the planes taking off and landing had bothered Nell. Alistair, seeing her upset, had held her hand and whispered that this was really exciting. Nell comforted herself by thinking of Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra and Tony Curtis. They did things like this all the time. She’d seen pictures of them looking relaxed and waving as they boarded planes. If they could do it, so could she.

The hotel was small and in the centre of the city. The bed was wrought iron with a pale blue eiderdown, and the walls were pastel green. It had a tiny en suite with a deep bath that had ancient brass fittings. Nell thought it perfect. This was how she’d decorate the bedroom when she and Alistair bought their house with the sweeping lawns.

‘This is wonderful,’ she told him. ‘You must have been saving for ages to afford to come here.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s our honeymoon. A once-in-a-lifetime experience we’ll remember when we’re old. We can tell our grandchildren about it.’

In fact, May had given him the money. She’d pressed a roll of banknotes into his hand and told him to take Nell somewhere exotic. ‘The girl knows nothing about marriage. It’ll be a shock when reality kicks in. She’ll need some good memories to fall back on.’

Alistair had asked his mother what she meant. ‘Marriage isn’t all getting into bed together. Suddenly Nell will have to cook supper and wash clothes and clean the flat. She’ll have to shop and, oh, all the things she’s never even thought about doing. There will be bickering. She’ll not take kindly to coming home from work and having to peel potatoes and chop onions.’

Alistair had said he’d imagined Nell would give up work and become a housewife. ‘I don’t want anyone thinking I can’t support my wife.’

May had told him not to be so old-fashioned. ‘She’d be bored alone all day in that flat.’

‘But she’ll have the baby,’ Alistair had protested.

‘What baby? She’s not pregnant, is she?’

‘Not yet. But I’m hoping she will be when we come back from the honeymoon. I want to start a family right away.’

May had asked if he’d spoken to Nell about this.

‘No, but we agree on everything. I didn’t think I needed to talk to her about it.’

May had told him he’d better, and had left it at that.

After they’d unpacked, the pair set off to explore. They meandered, walking down one street, turning into another without knowing where they were going. It was busy. Eventually, they found themselves looking at the river. The light was golden, a lone rower skimmed along the water. Alistair sighed. This place was amazing. ‘Do you realise the people who have lived here … Dante, Botticelli, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo. History was made here.’ He leaned over and whispered in Nell’s ear. ‘Our baby will be made here.’

Nell was alarmed. ‘I don’t want a baby. Not yet.’

‘Isn’t having kids the point of being married?’

‘I want to wait for a couple of years. I want to have some time when it’s just us. I thought the point of being married was so you could grow old together.’

‘Yes, but I want children, too. Three at least. A boy first, then a girl and I don’t care what the third one is.’

‘You’ve taken me by surprise. This is the first time you’ve mentioned having a baby to me.’

They walked on, both quiet. The late-afternoon sun drenched fabulous buildings they moved past; young boys on scooters whizzed by; people chattered in Italian, and they noticed none of it.

Eventually Alistair suggested they find somewhere to eat. ‘We’ll talk about this like grown-ups.’

Nell thought there was nothing to talk about: she didn’t want a baby.

They found a small bustling place and were given seats by the window. He ordered
bistecca
for both of them. ‘They sear the meat in charcoal,’ he said. ‘It’s a local speciality.’ They drank Chianti. He’d been studying travel books about Florence for months and had even learnt a smattering of the language.

He smiled at her, took her hand and said they mustn’t argue. ‘This is our special time together.’

She agreed. ‘No arguing.’

He took out his itinerary. ‘I’ve made a list of things I want us to see. The Duomo, Michelangelo’s
David
, the Ponte Vecchio, the Botticellis at the Uffizi Museum, the Boboli Gardens—’

‘The shops,’ added Nell. ‘I want to buy shoes.’

‘Italian shoes are a must,’ he agreed.

The place smelled of coffee and searing meat. There was the babble of foreign voices. Waiters fussed over them and flirted with Nell. They got a little tipsy on the wine and the grappa they drank with their coffee. They held hands as they walked back to their hotel. But even though they made love, the matter of baby making niggled away at both of them, unresolved.

Over the next few days, they followed Alistair’s itinerary. Nell marvelled and stared and wondered. ‘Do you think there’s anything ugly here?’

Alistair doubted it.

But it wasn’t the tourist spots that fascinated Nell. It was the people. They were, she decided, born stylish. She wished she lived here. She could stop for an espresso on the way to work. Pop out for another at odd times of the day. She loved the little cups of strong dark coffee. She’d heap in two spoons of sugar, and then, when the cup was empty, she’d dip her finger to gather the sweet traces at the bottom and lick it.

‘We could move here,’ she said.

‘What would we do?’ Alistair asked.

‘There’s bound to be pen shops here. Or I could work in any shop selling anything. They’re all lovely.’

He said they’d have to learn Italian.

Nell was sure she’d quickly pick it up. ‘I can already say, “Two coffees please,” and “Good morning,” and, “Thank you.” We could get a little flat and I could keep you while you studied Italian law.’

‘Thanks for that,’ he said.

‘Don’t you love the way people dress their kids here?’

‘No reason you can’t dress them like that back home, though.’

Oh, no, she thought, I’ve brought up the subject of children.

He drained his cup, and sat back in his chair. ‘How do you see us in ten years time? Where do you think we’ll be?’

Nell said she thought they’d still be the same. ‘Just us. Only we’ll have our own house. Quite a big one with long lawns and a couple of children and …’ she trailed off. She hadn’t planned beyond the big house; she had no other thoughts on the future. ‘I just want to be happy.’

‘You’ve no plans of your own,’ he said. ‘Don’t you want anything other than a big house? You don’t seem to be ambitious for yourself. You left school, got a job in the pen shop and haven’t moved on. Me, I can stay where I am, move up through the firm. I could start my own law practice. I could try to become an advocate. I have options. I have plans. Mostly, right now, I’d like to start planning a family.’

‘Usually it’s the woman who wants a baby.’

‘Yes, but I was moved when I held Carol’s baby when she was born. Something happened. I wanted one of my own.’

He’d seen Carol sitting in bed, leaning on a pile of pillows. She’d looked exhausted but glowing. When the baby was placed in his arms, he’d marvelled. It had been amazing, a whole new person in the world – tiny, yet perfect. He’d been close to tears.

‘Think of it – a little bit of you, a little bit of me all bundled into a whole new person. Doesn’t that excite you?’

‘Well, yes,’ said Nell. ‘I just want to have a couple of years enjoying being married first. Going out and coming home to our own place. Eating when we want. Watching television together in the evenings, that sort of thing. A baby’s a lot of work. I don’t think I’m ready yet.’

Alistair was adamant that nobody was ever ready for a baby. ‘They take you by storm, but we’d manage. We would do it together. Share the load. I’d do my bit, change nappies, do some of the night feeds, all that. And when the baby grew up a bit, I’d take him out, play with him. We’d be a family.’

Nell sighed. ‘OK, but just not yet.’

He ordered two more espressos. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, Nell, but you’re not exactly chasing a career. You’re a shop assistant. You could easily leave your job and take care of a baby. I want to provide for you. I want to take care of you.’

He was ashamed to tell the people he worked with what his wife did for a living. Most of his colleagues’ wives were housewives.

‘But I like my job,’ Nell protested. ‘I’m good at selling pens. I don’t want to stay at home all day.’

She was afraid of getting pregnant. She’d seen Carol growing larger and larger and more and more tired. She’d watched her friend sit slumped on the sofa, legs apart, complaining about heartburn and how coffee made her nauseous. She was afraid of looking ugly and she hated the maternity clothes. She looked away from him. She was hurt. She loved this place – buildings so ancient the street names carved on their walls were unreadable, narrow streets, wide squares, markets, traders selling ice cream, shops filled with exquisite things. She’d been anticipating this holiday for weeks. Alistair nagging her about having a baby had not been on her itinerary, and she was finding it unbearable.

Tears glazed her eyes. She turned to him. ‘Do you have to go on and on about having a baby? Here we are in this fabulous place and I can’t enjoy it. I mean everything’s beautiful and fabulous people have lived here. I might have stood on the very spot Leonardo da Vinci once stood on. Famous people must have come here. Sophia Loren’s Italian. She might have come to Florence. She might have even come to this café and sat at this table.’ Nell lifted her cup. ‘She might have drunk from the very cup I’m drinking from. This is only the second holiday I’ve ever had in my life. Can’t you let me daydream?’

Alistair said he was sorry. ‘Daydream away if it makes you happy.’ It wasn’t something he understood. He didn’t understand the joy of standing where da Vinci had once stood. Did Nell think the man’s genius was catching? It would start at her feet and move up to her brain? He doubted very much that Sophia Loren had ever come to this café and drunk from the cup Nell was using. And if she had – so what? Then, he picked up on what she’d told him. ‘You’ve only had one other holiday?’

‘Yes, when I was little we went to a little village up the west coast called Catto. It was lovely. I paddled in the sea and built sandcastles. We stayed in a big house that had a monkey puzzle tree in the garden. It was a bed and breakfast, so we had to buy our evening meal. We had fish and chips every night.’ That was all her mother and father could afford. Now she thought about it, she remembered that on a couple of occasions her mother had gone without. For lunch, they’d bought a loaf of bread and some slices of spam and her mother had made sandwiches. They were always gritty with sand. But in Nell’s mind they’d been heavenly. She’d worn a swimsuit made of some kind of seersucker that had left square marks on her bum. She’d shrieked at the cold as she ran into the sea. Her mother and father had gone in too, but only till the water reached their ankles. Her mother had lifted her tweed skirt above her knees; her father had rolled up his trousers. She’d had her parents’ undivided attention and had felt loved. All that and there had been cornflakes for breakfast. Never in her life before had she eaten anything so exotic. What more could a little girl want?

Alistair was swamped with guilt. He’d gone on holiday every year of his childhood, usually to France where his mother studied the cuisine. He promised not to mention babies again. ‘Not till we get home, anyway.’