Elizabeth J. Duncan Read online

  Seating herself at Penny’s worktable, Jennifer said she would go first, so Anne took a seat in the small waiting area and pulled the latest Tatler from her bag.

  “We picked our colours last week when we were in town,” Jennifer reminded Penny. “Anne and I have chosen Embrace, and I think Meg Wynne is having something else when she comes in tomorrow.”

  “How is Miss Thompson doing?” Penny asked. “I expect she’s been awfully busy trying to organize a wedding here when she lives in London. Can’t be easy.”

  “That’s true,” Jennifer agreed. “Ordinarily, I guess, they would have had the wedding in London, but with Emyr’s father not being well, it seemed like a good idea to hold the wedding here. I must say, it’s been great fun for us getting out of the city and coming to North Wales, of all places, for a few days.”

  “What do you do in London?” Penny asked casually.

  “We, that is Anne and I, work together at a PR agency. Meg Wynne works at a graphic design studio, her company did some work for us, and we all just got to know one another through our work, the way you do, really. And then Emyr and his friend David Williams were regulars in the wine bar in Covent Garden where we go after work, so we all just naturally formed a little group. And that’s how we all met up.”

  She looked over at Anne, who was flipping through her magazine.

  “Anne, how did it happen that Emyr and Meg Wynne started going out together?”

  “Yeah, well,” drawled Anne, looking up. “I think he sent us over drinks one night, but you could tell it was really Meg Wynne he fancied. And she led him on for a bit and played it cool. For a while, we thought it was David she was after but I think one night she invited Emyr around for a meal or whatever and that was pretty much it. After that they were just together. They’ve been going out for about two years now, wouldn’t it be, Jenn?”

  “Yeah, it would be about that,” Jennifer agreed.

  “And will Miss Thompson’s family be coming to the wedding?” Penny asked.

  The two girls exchanged glances, and then Jennifer, apparently by some unspoken understanding, was elected spokesperson.

  “I think so,” she said carefully. “Meg Wynne doesn’t like to talk about her family. Her brother died about a year ago, and the family has been struggling ever since. Apparently he got in with some bad company, and drugs were involved. He used to come along for dinner with us sometimes when he came down to London to visit Meg. He was only about eighteen or nineteen, I think. Good-looking lad, he was. Meg Wynne said her mother took it really hard. Well, she would do, wouldn’t she? But I’m sure her parents will be here to see her get married.”

  Penny murmured sympathetically as she reached for the topcoat polish.

  “You’re almost done, Miss Sayles,” she said. “You obviously keep your nails well looked after in London, so there wasn’t too much for me to do today. Miss Davidson, just give me a moment to set up for you, and then it’s your turn!”

  Anne handed off her magazine to Jennifer as the two girls changed places.

  What are your dresses like?” Penny asked as she started work on Anne’s nails.

  “Well, what they are definitely not is puffy and covered with bows,” replied Anne. “They’re just, well, like evening dresses, but not over the top, you know? Meg Wynne always wants everything to be in the best possible taste and I guess it’s the designer in her, but she likes everything to be sleek and sophisticated, if you know what I mean. Minimal. Modern.

  “By the way, I was wondering, what part of America are you from?”

  “I’m not from the States, actually, I’m from Canada. Most people make that mistake, because the accents can sound quite a bit alike. I’m from Nova Scotia. Nice little place called Truro.”

  “Oh, I was just wondering, because Emyr and Meg Wynne are going to America for their honeymoon. New York. Have you ever been there?”

  Penny said she had, many years ago, as part of a university trip. While her classmates had spent their days at the Museum of Modern Art, she had found it difficult to tear herself away from the old masters in the Frick Collection.

  “I haven’t been yet, but one day!” Anne enthused. “I love everything about America and I can’t wait to go there. I was just green with envy when Meg Wynne told me about New York. I think I was even more jealous about that than I was that she’d landed such a great catch as Emyr!”

  Penny smiled at Anne’s open and eager charm.

  “I was wondering which of you is the maid of honour,” she said.

  “That would be Jennifer,” said Anne. “There are just the two bridesmaids, and Emyr is having David as his best man, and there’s one usher, Robbie Llewellyn. They all grew up here, apparently. Went to school together and been friends almost all their lives. The wedding is quite small, only about fifty people, and most of them are Emyr’s people. But you’d expect that, wouldn’t you, when the wedding is being held in his village?”

  “Yes, I guess you would,” Penny agreed. “It’s been quite the topic of conversation around here lately. Everyone certainly wishes Emyr and his bride every happiness.”

  “They’ve sent the most wonderful presents, Meg Wynne says. They are all on display up at the Hall, and we’ll get to see them all tonight at the dinner.”

  The two girls exchanged excited smiles.

  The dinner to be held at the Hall on the evening before Emyr’s marriage had been the talk of the town for weeks. The award-winning chef-owner of an exclusive nearby country house hotel, with her culinary team, had been hired for the evening to cater it. Besides the wedding party, a few select guests—mostly longtime friends of the family—would attend. No expense had been spared for food or flowers, and preparations had been under way for days, with much coming and going of tradesmen’s delivery vans.

  The groom and his supporters were staying at the Hall, while the bride and her party had rooms at the Red Dragon Hotel, with its easy access through a side door to the picturesque walkway along the River Conwy that led to the church. Penny had offered to nip along to the hotel in the morning to do Meg Wynne’s nails but had been told that Meg would prefer to come to her.

  All arrangements for the bridal party’s nail care had been made over the telephone, and Penny had been instructed to submit her bill for the bridal party’s nail care to the Hall.

  When the bridesmaids’ manicures were finished, Penny suggested they might want to sit quietly for a few minutes to make sure their polish was completely dry before setting off. Impatient to get on with their day, however, they said their good-byes, gingerly opened the door, and pranced off into the street.

  Penny finished her work for the day and, leaving the shop clean and ready for the next morning, went upstairs for a light supper before setting off for Wightman and Sons. She didn’t expect too many people would be at the evening visitation for Emma, just a few old friends, and that was how it turned out. The rector and his wife, Bronwyn, were acting as unofficial family, greeting the few people who had dropped in. Penny quietly made the rounds, speaking briefly and politely with everyone, and then made her way home for a quiet cup of cocoa and an hour or so struggling to concentrate on a library book as her thoughts kept drifting back to Emma and the meaning of a life fulfilled. And, as waves of grief began to wash over her, she realized how dearly she would miss her friend because as of today, her own life had begun to move slowly forward, leaving Emma frozen in the past.

  And then she smiled as she thought how Emma would have enjoyed hearing about the bridesmaids’ shoes.

  Four

  The private road leading to Ty Brith wound its way up the hillside for about three kilometres. At first narrow and flanked on each side by trees and brush, the road widened as it got closer to the Hall and the trees gave way to lush, green fields.

  On this night, from the bend in the road where the trees ended and the fields began, lanterns had been placed alongside the fence to light the visitors’ way to the Hall and to let them know that a magical
evening was about to unfold.

  It seemed that every window in the Hall was aglow, and the welcoming sound of excited party voices greeted visitors as they emerged from their cars on the warm summer evening and crunched across the gravelled forecourt to the porte cochere.

  Emyr Gruffydd, with Meg Wynne Thompson by his side, was standing just inside the front door to greet his guests. Tall, with dark wavy hair, a determined chin, and deep-set blue eyes, Emyr was good looking in a way that would have been better appreciated thirty years earlier. But the woman beside him was definitely of her time, and by anyone’s standards, she was exquisite.

  Meg Wynne, dressed in a strapless emerald green vintage Valentino gown, was tall, with the perfect posture and long legs that suggested a pampered childhood filled with ballet and riding lessons, and holiday visits to London for the pantomime, followed by a walk down Regent Street to see the Christmas lights. Her shoulder-length, frosted blond hair was brushed softly back from her face and held in place with a diamond clip. Chandelier diamond-and-emerald earrings, a wedding gift from her soon-to-be father-in-law, almost brushed her bare shoulders. Her smile was polite but superficial, and if she felt any excitement, she did not show it. Her calm, poised presence was reassuring but discomfiting at the same time, as if she was deliberately holding something back. The aura around her was not of happiness, but of triumph.

  At twenty-eight, she seemed on the brink of a charmed life: adding great wealth to her great beauty. She had worked tirelessly for both.

  The daughter of a lorry driver father and a shop assistant mother from Durham, Meg Wynne had set about early to reinvent herself. As a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl she worshipped the princess of Wales, knew the names of all the best designers, and dreamed of the day she would travel with Louis Vuitton luggage, wear Armani and Versace, and have closets filled with Chanel shoes and Prada handbags. She devoured fashion magazines and used them to carefully plan her escape from working class to first class.

  She instinctively knew she would have to find a way to get into the orbit of the people she aspired to join, and this meant finding a suitable career that would put her in all the right places and in touch with all the right people. Bright and talented with an innate sense of colour, proportion, and design, she easily won a scholarship to Central Saint Martins College of Art and Design where she graduated top in her class. And since she was moving to London where no one knew her anyway, she thought that would be a good time to change her name from the simple Sandra that her mother had chosen for her, to Meg Wynne, which she thought would grant her more acceptance in the world she was about to join.

  Snapped up after graduation by a high-end London graphic design firm, she met fashion-magazine editors and advertising and public relations creative directors. Her world expanded to include international contacts and, as she became more polished and sophisticated, with the help of an acting coach, her accent went from Durham to Duchy. She sought out the best cosmetic surgeon in London and redefined her body. She learned about table manners and paid attention to the smallest detail of everyday etiquette. Let other women be common and vulgar. She would be elegant, sophisticated, and professional. Her designs at work were award-winners, but in the end, her best design was herself.

  Of course, this upward mobility came with a price. She shed friends and lovers along the way as they outlived their usefulness. This she did without regret or remorse as she set about finding the man who could take her life to the next level or, even better, the level above that.

  While she accepted that a lifestyle on the Beckham scale was probably beyond her grasp, she did think that a man who came with a large, beautiful house, a generous income, and a title was not too much to ask for.

  And when she met Emyr, she decided that two out of three wasn’t bad and who knew? One way or another, the title could always come later.

  When he asked her to marry him, she accepted without hesitation. She knew that he loved her, would be devoted to her, and would always give in to her. When he suggested she might like to have his mother’s engagement ring, she said that was so thoughtful and sweet, but really she would prefer something more modern in platinum from Cartier.

  When he asked if she would mind if they married at his home in Wales, she was glad to agree. She had come too far, and accomplished too much, to have her wedding in Durham, with all its ugly, embarrassing, working-class associations. It was bad enough that her parents would be coming to the wedding in Wales, but if they weren’t invited, or for some reason didn’t go, eyebrows might be raised and questions asked.

  Her timid, withdrawn mother, she knew, would be so socially overwhelmed by the scale of events surrounding the wedding that she would be more than content to hover silently in the background, hoping no one would notice her or speak to her. But her father was another story. How would she manage the situation if he drank too much, got loud and boisterous, and started shouting the odds?

  When she tucked her arm through Emyr’s as they turned to join their guests inside, she caught a glimpse of her parents across the entrance hall. Her father’s flushed face, as he raised his glass to take a long drink, worried her. I’m going to have to have a word with him about that, she thought. I can’t let him ruin this night. Earlier, she had left instructions with the serving staff that her father was not to be offered anything alcoholic to drink, but that if he asked for something, it should be well watered down and slow to arrive.

  Dinner was announced, and the members of the party made their way to the dining room. The large, gracious room, seldom used anymore, had been thoroughly turned out, its panelling and furniture polished, curtains aired, and the rugs and carpets shampooed.

  Every piece of silverware and crystal had been polished until it gleamed, and in the warm, rich glow of dozens of candles, the table settings glittered like they might have done fifty years earlier. The heady fragrance of fabulous flowers filled the air as the sideboards overflowed with spectacular arrangements of old-fashioned pink roses and white peonies. The centrepieces were scaled-back versions of the same arrangements, placed precisely along the length of the table.

  At Meg Wynne’s request, the evening was black tie, and as the guests took their places, everyone agreed that reviving the long-abandoned custom of dressing for dinner had been the right thing to do.

  As he looked around the room, Emyr’s father’s face lit up.

  “It’s wonderful to have so much life in the old place again,” Rhys Gruffydd said to Meg Wynne who was seated on his right. “Thank you, dear girl, for organizing this. I know it’s terribly old-fashioned of me, but I do miss the days when people used to dress for dinner.”

  He looked admiringly around the table and then back at the woman who, by this time tomorrow, would be his daughter-in-law.

  “Everything looks so beautiful. And it’s so good to have the house filled with young people and overnight guests again. I just wish that Emyr’s mother could have …” His voice trailed off as he contemplated his water glass. After a few moments, he looked at his companion again and continued. “We’ve been too quiet here, for too long.” A wistful smile softened the angular contours of his face. “I hope all that’s going to change once you and Emyr have settled in. I know you’ll be good for him. No, better than good for him. You’ll be the making of the man. You’ll give him the strength he needs and be his rock.”

  “I’m glad you’re pleased,” Meg Wynne replied. “It’s such a beautiful house, and I know it’s seen many wonderful parties. We’ll bring some of that energy and excitement back.”

  She smiled at him and lightly touched his hand before turning to have a few words with the guest on her other side.

  As the waiters entered to serve the starter, a tomato, red pepper, and orange soup, Meg looked across the table to Emyr who was deep in conversation with David Williams, the old friend he had chosen as his best man.

  Suddenly, the sound of Meg’s father’s voice, raised in alcohol-fuelled anger, registered with the gues
ts and the conversational buzz died away as everyone stopped what they were saying and turned their attention to Bill Thompson.

  “I’m telling you, no good will come of it!” he was shouting at his wife. “She’s—” He broke off as his wife put her hands to her face in despair and he realized that everyone was watching him.

  After a moment of stunned, embarrassed silence, the guests turned back to the person beside them and did their best to pick up conversations where they had left off.

  “Take no notice,” Rhys whispered to Meg Wynne’s profile, covering her hand with his. “He’s in his cups and doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  But as Meg Wynne sat staring straight ahead, a dark look of undisguised hatred clouded her face.

  The meal continued through the fish course of turbot with lobster sauce, champagne sorbet, main course of roast saddle of Welsh lamb, followed by cappuccino mousse, and finally, a cheese board. Out of consideration for Rhys Gruffydd’s failing health and to allow everyone to get to bed by a decent hour, coffee, liqueurs, and Godiva chocolate truffles were served at the table, rather than in the drawing room.

  The dinner drew to a close about eleven, chairs were pushed back, and guests gathered up their belongings and made their way to the front entrance where a small van was waiting to give anyone who had been drinking a lift back to the village.

  Thank yous and good nights were called back to Emyr and Rhys Gruffydd as they stood in the doorway, lit from behind by the warm glow of the entrance hall, with David standing behind them in the shadows. As the last of the guests departed, Rhys made his way slowly back inside and David and Emyr stepped outside and lit cigarettes.

  “Big day tomorrow,” David said, blowing smoke at the stars. “Are you up for it? Sure you want to go through with it? It’s not too late—you can still change your mind.”