Marjorie Lewty - A Girl Bewitched (1982) Page 3

  'Aye, mebbe.' Jessie wasn't convinced either, and her tone suggested strongly that she knew more than she was saying. She had probably been witness to Lisa's brief passion for the Marston man; there wasn't much that escaped Jessie's shrewd eyes. But Emma wasn't asking. She wasn't asking Lisa either. Tomorrow Lisa would be a married woman and the time for girlish confidences would be past. All the same, Emma would dearly have liked to know whether Lisa was aware that Trent Marston was joining the firm and that he would probably turn up at the wedding tomorrow.

  Coffee had been served at the table, as Richard had to leave early, and now he looked towards Emma and said, 'I suppose I should be making a move, if you'll excuse me. I'm so glad you managed to get back in time to lend Lisa your moral support, Emma, my young sister would have been very nervous if she had had to take the full bridesmaid's responsibility.' He turned to Edward Fairley. 'It was good of you, sir, to arrange for Emma to come home—I know she was on an important business trip.'

  Uncle Edward smiled his vague smile. 'Emma wouldn't have missed the wedding for anything. And I fear the business trip was not turning out all that important, was it, my dear? Markets are not very booming just now.' He had not, apparently, latched on to the fact that Richard had to get away, and now—having been silent through most of the meal—he launched into a long analysis of government policy regarding export markets, most of which, Emma recognised to her amusement, were quotations from Joe.

  Richard listened politely and Emma watched him across the table, liking the young man very much. She liked his style—quiet and sincere and straightforward. She even liked his looks; there was something cheerful and appealing about red hair and freckles. She hadn't seen much of him lately—she had been at college in Salisbury and later abroad, putting the finishing touches to her business training by polishing up her French and Spanish, but she remembered him well from schooldays. They had been in the sixth form together. He was a year older than Emma and something of a hero—captain of cricket, champion swimmer, and up with the first three or four on the academic side. A

  real all-rounder, Richard, and popular with everyone.

  She remembered how it had all begun—how he had fallen for Lisa. He had called at the house one day to bring a book he had promised to lend Emma. While they were discussing economics Lisa had walked in; Lisa in palest blue, her silver-gilt hair smooth round her exquisite little face; Lisa at fifteen with her shy, vulnerable beauty. Richard had taken one look and then—it seemed to Emma—had never looked anywhere else.

  He's nice, she thought now, really nice. I hope it's going to be all right.

  Uncle Edward was still talking. '—I don't know how the ups and downs in the country's economy affects your business, Richard, but we have found it tough going recently, especially on the export side. However—' he glanced happily round the table '—I'm glad to say I think I have found the answer. New blood, Richard, that's what it takes.'

  Richard glanced down at his watch, under cover of the table. 'Oh, yes, sir?'

  'Yes indeed,' nodded Uncle Edward. 'New blood, and fortunately the very man has turned up. You'll all see him tomorrow, he'll be coming along to the wedding. Lisa, of course, has met him already, haven't you, my dear?'

  Emma was watching Lisa, her throat suddenly tight, and she saw the fair head lift like that of a startled animal. There was a look in Lisa's great blue eyes that Emma had never seen there before. A look of naked fear.

  Uncle Edward beamed. 'An excellent man, he'll be a real asset to the firm. Marston's the name—Trent Marston. He's been out East, starting up a company for his father recently, and—— ' He broke off abruptly.

  'Why, Lisa my dear, what——- '

  The peach Lisa was holding fell from her hand. For a moment she stared at her father, her face deadly pale, and then she sagged in her chair and slid sideways.

  Richard caught her before she could fall farther. He reacted to the situation immediately, not wasting time on words. He lifted Lisa easily and carried her into the drawing room next door, where he laid her gently on the long sofa. Emma raced upstairs, carried down the duvet from her own bed and tucked it round the still form. Richard knelt beside the sofa, holding Lisa's limp white hand and murmuring reassuringly. 'It's all right, my love, it's all right. You'll be fine in a minute or two. Just take your time.'

  Uncle Edward dithered somewhat ineffectively. 'Should we ring for the doctor, do you think? Her heart—-'

  Richard shook his head. 'I'm sure it won't be necessary, sir. Lisa was very strung up. She'll come round very soon.'

  Emma admired him even more. He was a practical young man was Richard. He did what had to be done and he didn't panic or show alarm, or even surprise. Oh yes, he would be very good for Lisa.

  Jessie, having heard the commotion, and put her nose round the door to sum up the situation, appeared with a cup of strong steaming tea just as Lisa was opening her eyes, and within a few minutes Lisa was sitting up, sipping her tea, smiling a faint, rueful apology to the little group around her.

  'I just got too excited,' she whispered. 'I'll be perfectly okay now, Richard. You go along to your party, they'll be wondering where you've got to.'

  He demurred, but she insisted with surprising determination. 'Please go, Richard, there's absolutely no need for you to stay. I shall go straight to bed and Emma will look after me, won't you, Em?' Emma felt sure that she, and only she, saw the pleading in Lisa's great, expressive eyes and caught the note of desperation in her voice.

  Finally Richard agreed to leave, having insisted on carrying Lisa up to her bedroom. Emma waited for him to come down again and said goodnight to him at the front door.

  'Don't worry, Richard, I'll look after her and see she gets to the church in time. As she said, she just got a bit over-excited, that's all.' Fervently she wished that were all, but she was horribly afraid it wasn't.

  She waited until Richard's car had driven away down the drive, then she went back into the drawing room.

  Uncle Edward was pouring himself a stiff whisky. He was looking rather pale; he wasn't a man to cope with this sort of crisis. 'Is there anything I can do?' he enquired, wrinkling his brow.

  'Not a thing,' Emma assured him cheerfully. 'I'll cope. I'll go up to her now.'

  He grinned wryly at her. 'What a comfort you are, Emma. I think I'll go down to my workroom then, and potter around for a while. Come and tell me if I can be of any use.' And to her relief, he departed.

  Emma went upstairs and hesitated outside the door of Lisa's room, feeling, for some reason, that she ought to knock before she went in. How absurd—she and Lisa had always rushed in and out of each other's bedrooms without ceremony to exchange news and confidences. She didn't know if Lisa needed—or wanted— help, but Emma had to let her know it was there if she did.

  She opened the door and walked in. Lisa was sitting at her dressing-table, staring at her reflection.

  Emma walked over to her. 'How are you feeling, love? Better?'

  Lisa shrugged, not looking at her. 'Oh, I'm okay. Richard just made a big fuss about nothing. The room was awfully hot.'

  There was a strained silence. So it was going to be a cover-up, was it?

  Emma said, 'Are you going to bed? Would you like a drink or anything?'

  In the mirror she saw Lisa's mouth twist. 'Tea and sympathy? A nice heart-to-heart chat?'

  'If you like,' Emma said steadily.

  Lisa got up and walked across the room to where the wedding dress hung, its soft folds gleaming dully in the light from the bedside lamp. 'I don't think I do like, thank you,' she said in a taut, defensive voice. 'I'm a big girl now, I'm going to be a married woman tomorrow. Too late for girlish confidences, don't you think?' Her fingers moved nervously on the satin folds of the dress.

  Emma watched her, frowning. Something was very wrong. Love and pity welled up inside her, but she kept her voice low and even as she said, 'Look, Lisa, I've got to say this. I had your letters about this Trent Marston man when I wa
s in Toronto. I saw your face this evening when Uncle Edward mentioned his name.' She paused. 'If you're marrying Richard on the rebound then it's no good for either of you. What I'm saying is that it isn't too late for you to change your mind.'

  Lisa spun round, her cheeks flushed. 'Change my mind—what are you talking about? Of course I don't want to change my mind. If you're so interested I can tell you that I realised pretty soon the kind of man Trent Marston is, and that I couldn't feel anything for him but—but—' she hesitated '—but dislike and contempt. He's an absolute bastard!'

  Lisa had never indulged in fashionably crude language, and the blunt word, spoken almost viciously, gave Emma quite a shock. Lisa was certainly growing up. But in spite of her vehement denial, there had been something between her and this man and he had hurt her badly. Emma's dislike of the unknown Trent Marston deepened.

  But it would be foolish to make too much of it. She said lightly, 'There are plenty of that kind around, darling. Any girl can be taken in.' But particularly girls like Lisa—so young for her age, so romantic and heartbreakingly vulnerable.

  Lisa's mood changed suddenly. 'Don't let's talk about him. Let's talk about tomorrow. We'll go down to the church first thing. I want you to see the flowers, they're heavenly——'

  Trent Marston wasn't mentioned again that night.

  'They're jolly late,' complained the second bridesmaid, Richard's young sister Lorna. 'I wish they'd hurry up, it's parky here.' She drew back into a corner of the church porch in a vain attempt to get out of the cool breeze that blew straight off the sea. 'Any sign of them?'

  Emma put her head outside, looking up the short lane, lined with cars, that led to the church, and the wind slapped a strand of her dark gold hair across her eyes and flipped a panel of sea-green chiffon against her long, slender legs. She drew back quickly. 'Not yet, but they'll be here any moment now.'

  She wished she could believe it. She had seen Lisa's ashen face and trembling hands as she fastened the tiny pearl buttons on her white satin gown, not an hour ago. She had held her briefly in her arms as Lisa suddenly gave a gulp and quavered, 'Oh, Em darling, I'm so petrified! I don't know if I can go through with it. Wedding nerves are agony.' She had bathed the great blue eyes and patted astringent lotion round them. She had finally left Lisa with Uncle Edward in the hall of the old house not ten minutes ago, looking like a beautiful frail, misty ghost.

  She steadied her anxious breathing now and said again, 'They won't be long. Lisa was a bit dithery.'

  'Dithery?' Lorna's rather unfortunately plain little face screwed up contemptuously. 'Good lord, not having second thoughts, is she? It's taken her long enough to make up her mind to marry poor old

  Richard. She's not going to leave him standing at the altar, is she?' She began to giggle.

  'Shut up, Lorna,' said Emma, with the firmness of three years' seniority. 'Lisa wouldn't do a thing like that.'

  'I wouldn't put it past her if she thought there was something better on offer,' said Lorna. 'She's so pretty she thinks she can get away with murder. She was in my form at school, you know, I watched her at it. Ugh, there's a spider here!' She shot out of the corner, brushing her green chiffon skirt in disgust, and dropped her posy of pink rosebuds.

  Emma clicked her tongue and glanced through the arched doorway into the church. A wedding between two old local families was an occasion not to be missed, and the small Norman church was full. A discreet murmur of voices mingled with the painstaking Bach that Miss Stevens was coaxing from the wheezy little organ. The scent of freesia and narcissus filled the building and rose in waves up to the ancient roof beams. The five little boys in the front row of the choir stalls fidgeted.

  In the front pew she could just see the back of Richard's neck above his stiff white collar and above that the fiery thatch of red hair, neatly slicked down. Beside him showed the fair head of Jim Bolton, his best man, who had been Emma's faithful admirer for some time. In the pew behind, the brim of Mrs Southall's large grey straw hat could be seen to dip as she glanced round with nervous expectation. The two ushers, Richard's younger twin brothers, still stood selfconsciously at their posts near the door, although all the guests must surely be installed by now.

  All except one. There was no sign of Trent Marston, thank goodness. Emma would have spotted a stranger immediately. Perhaps he'd decided to give the wedding a miss. Emma had the strong feeling that he was the type of man who amused himself with a girl and then left her flat when it suited him. Perhaps, as he was going to join the family firm, he had a faint conscience about the way he had treated Lisa and had decided to keep out of her way, now that she had found a more chivalrous man. She sent up a silent prayer that he might stay away—a long way away—until Lisa was safely off on her honeymoon.

  'Here they are now, I can hear the car,' Lorna's voice squeaked from behind. 'Do I look all right?'

  Emma turned back into the porch. 'You look lovely.' She patted a lock of red hair back into place and straightened the pleated green chiffon collar. Then she peeped out into the short cul-de-sac lane, looking for the black family car, proudly driven by Malcolm.

  What she saw instead was a silver-grey Bentley coupe. It purred to a halt, double-parking without the slightest hesitation in front of the line of cars already neatly parked. A man emerged from the driving seat and reached back for his grey top hat.

  Emma's heart gave an unpleasant lurch and started to beat heavily. Oh yes, this must be Trent Marston— this tall, fabulous-looking man in superbly-fitting morning dress, his ebony-dark hair clustering thickly round his ears, who was walking with the arrogance of the devil himself up the path to the church door, between the two rows of village children and their mothers, lined up to see the fun.

  He was inside the porch now and his tall form and masculine virility seemed to fill the tiny space, enclosed between its grey stone walls. Snippets of those letters of Lisa's filtered back into Emma's mind: '—the most marvellous eyes that make my knees go all wobbly when he looks at me——-'

  Now those dark, slumbrous eyes passed dismissively over Lorna's pink face and red hair and then turned and fixed themselves on Emma.

  'I'm late, I think.' The deep, cultured voice contained no hint of apology and the wide, rather sensual mouth no hint of a smile.

  Emma felt suddenly hot with anger. Oh yes, he was all she had expected—the kind of man who thought he was God and could do as he pleased with no thought for others. The kind of man she disliked intensely.

  'You are indeed,' she replied crisply and with a hint of censure that she made no attempt to disguise.

  He went on staring at her and the dark brows rose a fraction. She stared back and as black eyes met tawny ones it was as though lightning flashed, leaving Emma weak and amazed.

  The taller of the twins appeared in the doorway, ready to do his stuff. 'Friend of bride or groom, sir?'

  'Bride,' said the newcomer, without taking his eyes from Emma's.

  When he turned to follow Kenneth it was as if something physical had been wrenched away from her body. She let out a shaky breath. Phew! So that was Trent Marston. No wonder poor little Lisa had been completely bowled over! A dangerous male that, and knowing his own power. A girl would have to be much more experienced than Lisa to recognise the danger.

  Her eyes went, as if pulled by some magnetic force, to where he was following Kenneth across the transverse aisle to a seat at the very far side of the church. That was a relief, he was well out of the way there and Lisa could hardly be aware of him when she walked down the centre aisle with her father. And when she was well and truly married to Richard, this Trent Marston would have no further power to hurt her.

  Lorna was looking shattered. 'Who was that gorgeous hulk?' she breathed. 'I've never seen him around here before.'

  'Nor me,' said Emma briefly. 'I think he must be the man who's going to work for our firm.'

  'Really? Aren't you the lucky girl?' Lorna rolled her eyes. 'I wouldn't mind working with him. Any sort
of work,' she giggled meaningly. 'Oh, here they are at last—- ' as Lisa and her father could be seen getting out of the car, to the accompaniment of 'oohs' from the assembled audience of children outside.

  Emma stepped forward as Lisa came into the porch on Uncle Edward's arm, delicately, fragrantly lovely, a dream in white, with a sheaf of white rosebuds, her great blue eyes misty and far-away, everyone's vision of a beautiful bride.

  Emma's eyes moved over her lovingly. Nothing to rearrange. Not a single pale-gold hair out of place, not a fold of white satin or a wisp of filmy veil. Richard's engagement ring was on the third finger of her right hand. Everything was in order. She gave Lisa's hand a little squeeze. 'You look wonderful, darling,' she whispered, and Lisa gave her a grave little smile and nodded gently.

  Beside her beautiful repose Uncle Edward, unfamiliar in his morning suit, was moving from one foot to another nervously. 'All set?' he muttered.

  Lisa made a faint gesture of assent and arranged her arm in her father's. Emma lined Lorna and herself up behind, nodded to Kenneth, who signalled to Miss Stevens. The muted strains of Here Comes the Bride stole through the little church.

  As they entered, Emma's glance went briefly across the nave to where a man's dark head, towering above the others, could just be glimpsed half hidden by a pillar. Lisa, in her slow progress down the aisle, had passed the spot from where she would be able to see him now. Trent Marston was rapidly passing out of her life.

  The little procession reached the chancel rail, where Richard was waiting. As Lisa took her place beside him Emma saw the look of love and devotion on his pleasant, square face and was deeply moved. Lisa was safe now, and if anyone had to cope with the Trent Marstons of this world—the selfish charmers, the callous heartbreakers, it wouldn't be her. Emma stepped forward, took the sheaf of white rosebuds, and went back to her place, her heart swelling with love and relief.

  'Dearly beloved——- ' intoned the vicar.

  Lisa's wedding had begun.

  The old house was looking its best for the reception. The April afternoon sunshine poured in through the long windows and the big, square hall was festive, with its white-clothed buffet table groaning with sandwiches, canapes, vol-au-vents. The wedding cake stood proudly in the middle, intricately iced and decorated with silver bells. Richard's mother had made all the arrangements and a catering firm from Poole had been hired to take over the food and drink and extra china. Malcolm had brought in masses of spring flowers from the garden and greenhouse and Emma and Jessie had arranged them this morning in bowls and vases round the hall and the dining room, which was being used as an overflow for the guests.