After Clare by Marjorie Eccles Read Free Book Online Page A

his best man at the altar and he stepped forward to meet Dee, his ears bright red, nervous but suitably impressive in the Erskine tartan, his black jacket with silver buttons and his war medals, and a skean-dhu stuck into the top of his stocking. Having relinquished Dee’s train, Rosie relieved the littlest bridesmaid of the burden of her flower basket and held the two children’s hands so that neither would become restless. Emily made a note to tell her how charming she looked, how pretty her red-gold hair, and to find a way of commenting discreetly that two of the other bridesmaids were only slightly less tall than she was. The best man produced the ring on time, Miss Pilgrim managed ‘The voice that breathed o’er Eden’ very well, considering the organ needed new stops.
    A radiant Dee emerged into the sunshine half an hour later as Mrs Hamish Erskine.
    It had rained the day before and the weather had turned cooler, but it was bright enough to hold the reception in the immaculate garden at Steadings, where the striking-looking pair whom Emily – and everyone else – had remarked on in church introduced themselves to her. So this was Poppy Drummond and her brother Valentine, the little boy to whom she had sent occasional presents on Paddy’s behalf, and who had sent such stiff, polite little letters back. He seemed awkward, perhaps moody, unlike his sister, who smiled and talked a lot and had a tinkling laugh. She is too determined to please, thought Emily, alerted, which I shouldn’t think is her usual style. She was rather relieved when, after a while, with a look from under her eyelids at her brother, the girl left them and drifted off to be immediately surrounded by several young men.
    Valentine turned out not to be moody at all, simply harassed by the formal wedding clothes which seemed not to fit him too well, and slightly constrained, for some reason, in the presence of his sister. After she left, he smiled at Emily, found her a seat on the terrace, brought her strawberries, and then relaxed and began to talk naturally, encouraged by her interest. She drew him out and learned that he had survived the war, and was not long down from Oxford. Relaxing even more, he confessed when she asked what he was doing now, that he had written a novel, which to tell the truth had been rejected by the Markham Press, then immediately looked annoyed with himself for having said so much.
    â€˜Sorry, you don’t want to hear about that. I’ve drunk too much of this stuff,’ he said, setting down his champagne glass on the stone balustrade. He looked hot and tugged at his tie. ‘What I’d give for a beer!’ His eyes followed Rosie as she once more took charge of the page and the little bridesmaid, who were rushing about, hot and overexcited, too full of ice-cream, and changed the subject. ‘I say, she’s a topping sort of girl, Rosie, isn’t she? Oh Lord, look out, here’s her father.’ He looked wildly around, but Gerald was intercepted by a great-aunt. ‘Lucky escape.’
    â€˜From Gerald? Why should you want to avoid Gerald?’
    â€˜Oh, I don’t, not really. Well, yes, of course, my book. I’m a fool, I shouldn’t have said anything about that – told you I’d had too much bubbly.’
    â€˜Well, I’m sure he won’t embarrass you by mentioning it in front of other people.’
    â€˜Might be better if he did, perhaps – talk about it, I mean. To me, anyway. I’d like to know where I’ve gone wrong, and all that. Where I go from here.’
    â€˜Why don’t you have a word with Dirk?’
    â€˜Stronglove?’ His glance followed Emily’s, to where Dirk was basking in the admiration of two of his lady readers. ‘Oh, mine’s not his sort of book at all.’
    â€˜Nevertheless, he must know a thing or two, to be as successful as he is.’
    â€˜Perhaps I will,’ he